Metallseele
by Blue6 - Blood66
Summary: [Chap.6: Do you see it? Can you feel it?] Bradley has a complicated past unlike the bunch of kids in their neighborhood, which slowly breaks his soul. And it isn't that light to bear for him...
1. Bradley Crawford

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Metallseele

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Chapter 1: _Bradley Crawford_

"Dad?"

Slender fingers played on a small child's raven hair, twirling, curling, then releasing to let the hair return to its original straight state. Honey brown eyes lighted up in amusement and lovingness behind the spectacles as he continued to engage himself with the smooth black locks of the child. 

"Dad?" the child uttered in a soft voice once again.

Upon hearing the child's call, he tilted his head to meet the large, innocuous amber eyes eagerly gazing at him, curiosity printed all over his features. He let a smile capture his face, and extended an arm to encircle it on the child's tiny shoulders. Ash blond hair fell over his left spectacled eye, framing his faultless face perfectly.

"Yes, Brad?"

"Um, where's Mom? I thought she's going to read me bedtime stories. She promised," the child called Brad said in a tiny voice, pouting cutely. The book entitled '100 best kiddie stories' lay on the foot of the bed, still untouched. His father's beaming face vanished for an instant, then replaced with an uncertain expression, though his brown eyes turned cold behind the glasses, and was instantly shut before the child get the whole meaning of his expression. 

A silent fear gripped the back of the father's mind.

Sometimes, Brad gives out comments which seemed highly intellectual for his age. He was only four years old, but he already can read perfectly, a weird thing for the couple didn't even had the time to teach their son, an awful disappointment they carried long ago. But since the child held the books in his small, fragile hands, it seemed as if his brain absorbs the text and learned by himself. It still remained a mystery to the couple, but they were happy enough to be curious even now.

But it seemed so supernatural... too weird to find out in the normal way.

So it was dangerous to give out a facade and revert to an expression alien to his memory, but soon will be found out. Brad wasn't an inquisitive boy, but the way he questions or state the source of his curiosity was hard to contemplate and answer. Yet even if they haven't given out an answer, eventually Brad would discover by himself. 

And so, with the tremendous tension in the father's side, he nodded kindly, the smile reaching to his warm brown eyes. "Your mom, apparently, is busy with office. Her company needed her the most now."

"But she promised she'll be home before eight. And look, Dad, it's already nine," Brad pointed at the small blue clock on his bedside table, which ticked in their Mickey Mouse hand pointers. 

"She is busy, Bradley, and probably traffic is so tight in the way that she's locked in it in her taxi..." the father trailed off as he met the amber eyes of his son, seeming to digest every single word he uttered. The look in Brad's face never cease, which was dominated by curiosity and innocence. 

"Dad, why didn't she call you? She must be sorry all these time from not making here on time... Dad?"

His father has risen from the bed, his lips still curved in a loving smile. He briefly adjusted his rectangular spectacles, allowing locks of ash blond fall over his forehead. 

"I'm sure she'll come back soon. You must understand her work, Brad. She's really busy." He turned his back on Brad, and then faced the child once again. "Do you want me to send your brother here? Maybe he can read you stories now."

The expression never changed in the child's face, but a silent hesitation briefly flashed in those caramel orbs. "Okay," Brad whispered, tucking himself in the thick blankets. The man gave him a last smile and exited the room with a slight gladness. 

However, he have to deal with his other son now... He sighed exhaustedly, and knocked on the door quietly. Rock music on low volume was heard in the room, and the father knocked once again, this time louder. 

"Stephen?" another knock.

"It's open, Dad," came the muffled answer. Quietly, the father opened the mahogany door, seeing Stephen sprawled on the bed, looking at the covers of his records while listening from his stereo beside the bed. Gray eyes bore on spectacled honey browns for a silent moment, then fading away in annoyance in the son's part.

The father quietly closed the door and set himself beside the rosewood cabinet. 

"What's it again? Brad?" 

The light glared on the father's glasses, shading his eyes. "Stephen," a warning. Stephen sighed and plopped sitting on the bed. Frizzy brown hair from the lack of combing fell on the side of his semi-tanned face, accentuating his gray eyes and well-curved eyebrow. He was nine years old, yet his height is superior over his age. Eyebrows knitted before replying bitterly: 

"Okay, okay! But get to the point; I have to baby-sit Bradley again?"

"Just for tonight. Your mom is out late, and I'm up to business -"

"You always were," Stephen muttered almost inaudibly, with obvious disdain tinting his voice. His father turned at him sharply, but ignored the obnoxious remark. 

"So I'll leave you to Bradley now. And if he asks you about Courtney, say that she's really busy with the company, okay?" a half-fake smile spread on his face, and the glasses glaring the light, hiding his brown orbs. "Goodnight," and he closed the door.

Stephen sighed in frustration, throwing the record jackets across the bed, and ruffled his hair in annoyance, further making his hair messed up. He hastily picked up two of his Kiss action figures, slamming it onto his lap.

"Oh, Courtney, where were you again this night?" he mimicked in a whiny voice, moving one of the action figure with his tone.

"Business! What are you expecting, Alan?" Stephen said a high-pitched whine, letting the other figure jump up and down on his lap. And gritting his teeth, he gripped the figures tightly, and clashed it onto each other, making yells and screeches. 

"Well, fuck that!" Stephen threw the figures to the stereo, and the hand of one of the figure got stuck into one of the speakers. The child rolled his eyes, pulling off the action figure, then turning the stereo off before standing and calming himself.

"Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. How many times would I live off like this?" he muttered to himself, and pulled his robe onto him, going to his brother's room, calmer this time. 

He didn't bother to knock on his brother's room, he knew Brad would be anticipating for him. Stepping into the room, Stephen was instantly greeted by Brad's sickly warm amber eyes, followed by the slight pout of the four-year old child.

"Stephen..." Brad almost whispered. Stephen nodded without a word, his face kept impassive. The clock ticked to a quarter after nine, the silence bringing out the ticking. 

"Stephen, Mom isn't in the office or the taxi, is she?"

Stephen stared at his younger brother rather shocked, mouth parted a little. Has he been listening all these time, tainting his innocence? But oh, he's only the one. Stephen's the only one on the top of the stairs every night their mother comes home. It's his official space... he'd never seen Brad lounging beside him...

But what?

"What are you talking about?" Stephen made his way into the room, composing himself, and then sat beside Bradley, staring at the amber eyes fixedly. He concluded this might be another joke his little brother is attempting to make. 

"Please don't lie to me. She's not in the taxi, isn't she? She's in some kind of place with many people and many glasses, isn't she?" innocence prevailed in the caramel orbs. Stephen gaped a while then chuckled.

"And how did you know, Bradley?" 

A slight pause, and silence ensued when Bradley tilted his face to look at his brother in a better view, his amber eyes giving off nothing but innocence. Quietly, and simply, he said

"I saw it."

****

TBC


	2. Visions, Voices

AN: As you might have noticed, I'm slightly placing the story quite on Stephen's side. I'm only using the character to show the family status. And there are some shifts in POV. And the disclaimers... of course. I don't own Schwarz. 

Metallseele

Chapter 2: Visions, Voices

Stephen tilted his head and laughed hysterically, his eyes glazed with amusement. He slapped his thigh repeatedly, all the while ignoring his brother's emotions. Who cares? He has his euphoria over baby sitting, so the hell with it!

"Are you joking?" he asked and lurched himself into a laughing fit once again. 

"No I was not," protested Brad in a whisper. He kept his amber eyes locked onto his brother curiously. 

"And you were!" Stephen bolted up, grabbing Brad's small shoulders rather roughly. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, my great little brother!" his eyes glinted in hate for a moment, as the grip became tight on Brad's shoulders. The child winced. 

"And now I know why mom and dad loved you so much," Stephen hissed in Brad's ear, then releasing him to laugh again in strange happiness, which Brad thought to be so complicated to think of.

"But they loved you too," Brad said innocently in his small voice. Caramel orbs probed gray eyes intently, and Stephen irritatedly shoved the gaze away. 

"Well, of course!" Stephen stood up, his frizzy hair landing to his eyes, but he ignored it, like he didn't care. Instead, he proceeded to the foot of the bed looking down, then snatching the bedtime story book, roughly placing it on his lap. He forced a small smile at Brad's direction, leafing through the pages unmindingly.

"So now, I'm going to read you a story..."

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + 

Stephen discreetly placed the book on the desk, watching the little form of his brother on the bed, the blankets covering the small body heaving up and down from his breathing. Brad was neatly tucked in the covers, his small hands crossed over his chest on top of the blanket. 

Brushing his brown locks from his face, he sighed contently, and closed the door behind him after turning off the lamp. Baby-sitting has relieved him from stress a bit, and from the angry thoughts of his parents. 

And Bradley had entertained him quite a lot.

He chuckled lightly at the thought, then proceeding downstairs to get some milk before going to sleep. The clock told him it was already nine forty-five, fifteen minutes past his sleeping hour. He doesn't care anyway, late or early, it's always the same each night - he'll always hear the yells and screeches outside, produced by his bickering parents. And who the hell knew what they were talking about!

All Stephen knew was that his family is breaking apart.

Dragging himself, his eyes already drooping, he found his way to the kitchen, then leaned on the counter lazily, picking out a tall glass. He opened the refrigerator clumsily, and the glass slipped from his hand, landing on the carpet in broken shards, causing a curse slip from his mouth. 

"Stephen! You broke a glass again! Be sure to clean it up!" their father, Alan, yelled from his study. Stephen only stared at the broken glass aimlessly, a picture playing in his head. 

A car. Glass. Broken glass. Lots of it falling... falling...

"Stephen!" a loud yell cut through his thoughts, jerking him to reality. He shook his head, a slight pain building on the back of it.

"Yes Dad!" he rubbed the back of his head slightly, remembering the weird pictures. It all seemed like distant images, the color, the shades... Yet it seemed so real. 

Was it a premonition? 

He chuckled softly, disregarding the thoughts. Probably he's just being very imaginative this night. Plus Stephen's so sleepy, and probably that triggered the weird images. He picked up the broom, sweeping the broken glass quickly, then dumping it in the trash can. 

This time, when he reached for a glass, he picked a plastic one. He filled it with milk, then proceeded barefoot to his room when he heard the front door crack open. Stephen froze in his tracks, knowing immediately that it was his mother. 

There were inaudible whisperings from the door, and Stephen was confused when an unfamiliar deep voice spoke in the same whisper. The front door finally shut closed, and he tiptoed hurriedly to the top of the stairs, not wanting to be seen awake. The door of his father's study opened loudly, the force setting the mahogany door slamming onto the wall, the sound painful to Stephen's ear. 

And before it all happened, Stephen already knew. 

He had been always the knowing one. With shaking hands, he welcomed the violent sounds reach his ears, sipping his milk, the taste awfully different. 

"And where were you again this night, Courtney? Don't tell me -"

"Business, of course! Don't you understand? And why do you doubt so much? I've spent so much time on work, and you still don't know it?" the high-pitched yell of his mother pierced Stephen's ear. He winced, and took another gulp of milk. A growl emanated from his father's throat.

Stephen could almost hear the race of his heartbeat in his chest and the warmth spreading on his face, most especially on his eyes. He took another gulp of his milk, and realized that the glass was already empty. It was a dreadous thing to go back in the kitchen when mayhem was in the living room. 

"Oh, business, you say! How fascinating," his father's controlled and calm voice was entirely destroyed by his uncontrollable rage. "And I see you have a taste of being in a club with your clothes!"

Club? So that's what it's called...

"How dare you! Is it a trivial matter to not go with fashion?"

"What a ridiculous excuse!" 

"And is your questioning not ridiculous?" a loud slap was heard, and a low moan from a female voice. Stephen gasped, losing the grip he had on the glass. It fell a couple of steps from his seat, landing pitifully on the carpeted wood.

"I ultimately don't believe you. How can you explain the male voice I've heard earlier?" this time his father's voice was silent, but eerily forbidding.

"You..." a warning from his mother. Then a laugh. "You're jealous..." 

"You're drunk, woman," his father said quietly, then silence ruled for a few seconds before his father decided to end the quarrel in his frightening cold voice. "This is a futile exchange of irrelevant remarks. And if you're talking of business, you still have business tomorrow with Brad." a pause. The door of his study creaked open.

"And if you're just wondering, he was waiting for you hours ago, and perhaps disappointed." the door of the study slammed shut, and Stephen heard his mother's almost insane laugh, painful to his ears. 

Stephen felt a weight land on his shoulders, and when he looked up, he saw the small figure of his brother, amber eyes gazing at him innocently, then after a moment, an expression of worry crossed his fragile features. And then Stephen realized tears had scattered on his cheeks, and his eyes felt incredibly hot.

Stephen hastily wiped the tears away, hoping it would restore his normal expression. But the look in Bradley's face just made it clear that he hadn't. 

"Why are you still up?" he felt the urgency to change the atmosphere, and avert it to something serious.

"I saw something." Stephen stared at his brother. "It woke me up," Brad added, the innocence never disappearing.

"A dream," Stephen muttered, deciding to pass the weirdness his brother is projecting. Amber eyes became warm and innocence still was etched in every line of his face. Stephen shivered at the thought that this child heard it all. 

"And I told you, Mom wasn't in the office or the taxi. I told you, I saw it," Bradley blurted out without any hesitation, his basic eloquence he learned from the household very useful to the expression of his thoughts. Yet neither himself, who had grown up from his parents' professional way of giving them their intelligence, hadn't understood a bit of what Brad wanted to tell. 

"How long have you been awake?"

"Just now," Bradley said simply. 

"Then go up to your room. You have to sleep for tomorrow," Stephen said mandatorily, picking the glass before he walked to his room. He also had strength to build for tomorrow too. Brad should keep the crying business silent or Stephen's mischief would be revealed for sure. 

Glancing back, he saw nothing of a trace of Brad. A faint click assured him that his little brother was back in his room, starting to sleep. 

And for now...

Stephen closed the door, hoping the sounds outside would drown him to sleep, and drown him towards an unlasting oblivion.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +

"Bradley... wake up now... This is your special day," a soft voice mingled with the warmth the blankets put to the small fragile figure on the bed. The small boy opened his big amber eyes, fixedly looking at the serene figure in front of him.

"Mom," Brad whispered, gazing at his mother's almost transparent gray eyes. Her long raven locks fell onto his face, tingling his cheeks slightly. The sweet smell of her shampoo wafted to Brad's senses, and it joyed him enough to have his company of his mother once again.

"You have to get ready fast as possible. The prospect of you going to school awfully excites me, Brad..." she gave him a sweet smile, then running her long, graceful fingers in her son's raven hair. "Are you excited?"

"I'm more interested than excited," Brad stated silently, a small curve of a smile lighting his eyes. It disappeared after a moment, the usual simple, innocent face returning. 

"Of course. So, you've got to ready. I'm just in the kitchen." She gave him an affectionate graze on the cheeks before making her way out of the room, to the first floor. Brad stretched languidly before stepping into the bathroom to get bathed.

It was seven o'clock in the morning, an hour early from the departure. The three family members were gathered in the kitchen, each of them in their usual seats in the dining room. Stephen was eating his cereal quietly, his gaze on the bowl. Alan, their father, was on his seat, a cup of capuccino steaming in front of him, a newspaper spread close to him, blocking his sight. And Courtney, their mother was preparing the children's snack for school. 

It was only silence that ruled in the room; silence in the sense that nobody was using their tongues to express themselves. And Stephen found it very uncomfortable. His mother's appearance told him that she have forgotten all about the night, and his father's look, was, well... the same impassive, business-like expression.

Stephen felt so cold.

Bradley went down to the kitchen just as Stephen finished his cereal. The small child was dressed in a black jumper and blue tee, further making his skin look pale. His raven hair was neatly spread on his forehead, the large amber eyes still innocent.

Already corrupt, Stephen thought.

"Oh Bradley! How cute you look!" she lead the child on his seat between Alan and Stephen. Then, his mother placed the cereal in front of him, including the spoon, and Brad received it with an appreciative nod. 

Stephen felt a cold stab of something in his chest, filled with jealousy and annoyance. When he was four, his parents barely took a role on giving him breakfast and stuffs... They just talk, talk, and talk, only sometimes that they lend their time to him to teach him the basic things a child should learn. 

Business. What pure shit, Stephen thought bitterly. 

He watched his brother silently on the corner of his eyes as he unchild-likely ate his cereal. He seemed more like a six year old having the innocence of a four-year old... 

The little hands stopped its process of spooning the food, and amber eyes locked on gray eyes firmly. Quietly, Brad said: "I think you'll be late, it's already seven fifteen," he smiled genuinely, and waved his small right hand. "Bye-bye," Brad said sweetly.

"Oh!" Stephen muttered, looking at the clock. It was indeed seven fifteen, and he'll be late if he won't get going. He stood up, waved at his small brother, and bid his parents goodbye, who monotonously returned it.

Alan put down the paper, and looked at their raven-haired child. Amber eyes instantly focused on his father. Alan smiled lovingly, contrasting his business-like look: brushed back hair, and black suit. The child returned the smile, then resumed eating.

"Brad, you should give your best in school, okay?" his father said softly. Brad heard his mother snort behind the counter, and Alan missed it.

"I will," Brad replied simply, after finishing his cereal.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Bradley did, in fact, better than his classmates that the teacher suggested that he go to the higher grade after some months of studying ABCs, and all those basic things. The teacher was highly amused when she related how Brad seemed so mature over his classmates, and he's always the one leading the group because of his intelligence. The teacher added too, that Bradley's way of speaking was far different from the utterings of the other children, and so the child deserved an atmosphere right for him.

Courtney absorbed all the praises for his child blissfully, and the night of that day, she got home very early and took the family out for dinner. It was an unusual thing to happen, for Alan still have paperwork, and the children wasn't accustomed to such a thing. 

However, they were already in the restaurant, the dishes served fairly quickly, which made Alan Crawford relieved for there was a large pile of paper which needed work on his study. 

Stephen was practically feeling neutral, and so do Brad. Brad thought that there weren't any reason to become happy in this kind of thing. He just have to pass the test, and move up to the higher level. Still, it wasn't worth celebrating, the faculty just added a burden to him. 

But seeing their mother smile was a different thing.

So the two children just rode on the aura of her happiness. 

Champagne was served to the four, and Courtney raised her glass, smiling radiantly at her raven-haired son. "To Brad, whose excellence is showing in a very fast pace," she toasted with the others, and though it was hard for Alan to give in her euphoria, he did, just for their son.

Brad's innocent amber eyes glinted as he drank his glass, and then something in his mind made him stare off in space, the glass still tilted on his mouth. The amber eyes became blank.

Stephen stared at his brother. The parents were oblivious of the child's situation, busy with the payments and heated debate on what credit card would be used.

Bradley placed the glass on the table, and looked at his parents calmly.

"Mom, Dad?" he said quietly.

"Yes?" Alan and Courtney said instantaneously.

"I suggest we go home, before we are bereft of our belongings," Brad said, nothing of an urgency tinting his quiet voice. Innocence glowed from the amber orbs as the parents gaped at their child. 

The mother chuckled slightly. "You're tired now, aren't you? Yes, we'll go home," and the couple paid for the bill, then proceeding to the parking lot where their black Jaguar was parked, zooming to their house.

And later that night, when the couple again was in a quarrel, Stephen was again at the top of the stairs, and Brad tucked comfortably in his blankets, the security alarm went off, signifying burglars. 

And Bradley was again beside Stephen, as their father called for the cops, and their mother shocked in the living room, jaw hanging slightly, and there was no doubt that it was Brad that she was thinking.

And later that night, Stephen slept in Brad's room, in their father's command, and Courtney lay awake, setting the security alarm, checking everything in the house in frantic worry.

Brad, on the other hand, was dreaming of a steel, sleek gun in the background of pure white, and then fading into a dull brown that was the hue of his father's eyes.

TBC.


	3. Five with Seven year olds

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Metallseele

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Chapter 3: _Five with Seven year olds_

"Madame Crawford," an old woman in her fifties tenderly got hold of an elbow of Brad's mother and steered her onto a corner, while the wee child was sitting on a plush chair, arms neatly folded on his lap, giving him the look that separates him from the other children. 

"Madame, your child is wonderful," the woman said quite breathlessly, her eyes glinting all the while. "We checked his test first, from your request, of course, and Bradley got a perfect score. The test was even not suit for his age, it was the typical test given to those who wanted to go to the first grade of school -"

"That is fantastic!" Courtney cried out, clapping her hands on the news. Earlier, she was feeling a bit sullen about her son's weird intuition about everything, particularly that night after their dinner in the restaurant. Yet now, all she had in mind was her son's brilliant intellect and nothing more. She glanced at Brad's way, smiling radiantly then taking both of the old woman's hands. "And so he could start tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, absolutely. Here're the requirements," the woman handed two pieces of paper with a long list. Courtney mindlessly tucked it in gratefulness in her coat, then bid goodbye to the old woman, lastly taking Brad's little hands.

"We're going shopping, Bradley... You're absolutely going to shine for tomorrow. Aren't you a bit excited?" Courtney's smile was so big like she won the lottery. "It's a real treat for your birthday the day after tomorrow." Opening the car door, Brad was slid inside by her mother, the child still thinking deeply. 

Brad waited for his mother to slid in the driver's seat, amber eyes looking impassively at Courtney. 

"About your question, Mom, I think I'm not excited," Brad uttered.

Courtney started the engine, still smiling widely, then chuckled gaily, steering the car towards the mall. "You just think you're not, but eventually, you will be. It will be a great thing for you, because, of course! You're only four, and then you're with first grade when, in the first place, you should be in preschool!" Courtney's gray eyes sparkled at Brad's direction, while the child was taking in all the words innocently. "You'll be admired... looked up to... be their inspiration... Oh, I'm so proud of you, Bradley..."

The raven haired child looked outside for a few moments, then said to her mother in a neutral voice, an opinion for his elders, but a conclusion for Brad: "I might not be treated like that at all."

For the second time, his mother let out an amused chuckle.

++++++++++++++++++++++

"So I heard," Stephen hissed from the entrance of Brad's room, the scornful older brother inclined on the door frame, with one hand on the door handle for balance. The child was changing to his black uniform of his new school with no difficulty, then briefly glancing at Stephen before continuing with dressing. 

Stephen, already in their navy blue uniform sighed then sat on the chair parallel to the bed, watching Brad's minute movements. "You're the pride of the family, Bradley," The frizzy-haired boy spat, emphasizing the word 'pride' largely. 

Brad, already dressed in the little black jacket and baby-colored yellow ribbon, turned and looked at his brother, his face a grimace of somewhat an expression of puzzlement. "I don't quite understand." 

"And I thought you were intelligent! Oh my God. Okay, nevermind that now. Mom mandated me to walk you to school, as my school is just a few turns from yours."

"Thanks for agreeing. I would have a pretty hard time dodging buses and cars if I were alone," Brad replied silently, the tone of being naive prominent in his little voice. The child slung the backpack on his small shoulders, then walked to the door, where Stephen was looking amusedly down at his little brother.

"You know," Stephen said, part wondering. "For a four year old, you sound different. Weird." With that, Stephen ran down the stairs to the kitchen, followed by the small steps of his brother Brad. As expected, their father was already there, coffee steaming hot and the usual newspaper covering his whole upper body. 

"Good morning," both said simultaneously, heading to their positions in the kitchen table. 

Stephen was halfway to getting his cereal when a certain thought occurred in his mind. "Where's Mom?" Stephen blurted out, then regretted the question when the newspaper stirred a bit, and apparently, their Dad didn't like the interrogation at all. Stephen looked down, then nervously brushed his frizzy locks back from his forehead.

"Yes Dad, where is she?" Brad echoed silently, already pouring his milk on the cereal. With the little child's voice, Alan put down his paper and looked at the child with softened eyes. 

"Well, I guess she departed quite early today. Probably eager to get out from work, for, of course, your birthday, Brad," Alan smiled, then emptied the coffee mug. Brown eyes glared momentarily at Stephen's direction before Alan stood up. He neatly folded the newspaper, carrying it until he reached the door, then bid goodbye to the both of them.

Stephen finished his breakfast, hastily putting the bowl on the sink, all the while yelling for the maid. He was entirely glad that the tension was over, it was extremely uncomfortable being in that position. He grimaced. "Hey, Bradley, we've got to go. Or we're going to be late. You don't want to be the smartest late-comer, do you? Or do you want to be trashed by those nasty -"

He was cut off by Brad's voice coming from his back, startling him quite a bit. "We're already late, come on," Brad pushed his older brother towards the door, little hands flat on Stephen's back.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The walk towards school wasn't very pleasant for Stephen had too much to say about Brad's performance in the test, and in school. All Brad heard from his brother was, 'weird' 'unexpected' and so much doubting statements. The child mistook his brother's intentions, and thought Stephen was praising him. And so the older brother took off with mild annoyance, upon reaching Brad's destination. 

Bradley's trip inside the school wasn't all too nice; the guard has to get the principal to prove Brad's really going to the first grade. Brad was very patient, until they got to the classroom, where he started to feel... different. 

It was different in the sense that he haven't experienced something like it in his whole life. Something unexpected from a person like Brad, whose indifference over certain matters can rule over curiosity just for the reason that he already know. But the feeling he's experiencing was alien to him.

"Class, you have a new classmate. Come on, introduce yourself," a redheaded woman with big, circular glasses, who introduced herself as Mrs. Russ coaxed Brad in front, with the curious gazes of his supposed classmates.

Brad was almost shoved to the front of the class, and instantly felt his heart thumping inside his chest, which is the first time he'd felt in his four years. All the stares were on him, others smirking dangerously, others staring unbelievably, others calm and the few looking somewhere else, daydreaming.

"Introduce yourself," the sharp voice of Mrs. Russ just gave an intense punch on Brad's heartbeat. 

Erasing his nervousness, Brad scanned the room in an interested way, then said in his silent voice: "I'm Bradley Crawford. I hope to know you on the following days."

Someone in the back raised a hand, swaying for attention. 

"Yes, Mark?" Mrs. Russ asked the student.

"Bwad, how old are you?"

The students stirred in giggles and whispers. Brad raised an eyebrow, thinking that the source of their excitement wasn't that amusing or entertaining. Sure, he was four, and they were seven, so what's so hilarious about that? 

"I am four, turning five tomorrow," Bradley told the student simply, and then his heartbeat returned to the painful thumpings once again. 

"Mrs. Russ! He's young to be here!" protested a boy, followed by its echoes of protests. Brad's heartbeat hurts him now, but his face remained the same: innocence tainted by confusion.

"Settle down, children! Calm down, now," when the teacher's voice didn't work, she gripped a stick and slammed it repeatedly on the desk until the students calmed down, while Brad winced at the noise it brought. Mrs. Russ placed a hand on Brad's shoulder gently.

"Sit beside Charles, on that vacant seat beside the window. If you need something, or you have a question to ask, then approach me. Okay?"

"Yes. Thank you," Brad returned the tight-lipped smile to the woman and proceeded to the seat beside the massive boy smirking at him, then to the other large boys behind him. 

"Hey did your Dad have money to put you in first grade?" a murmured question was heard from Brad's back. Then a silent snicker. 

A big hand landed on Brad's table, causing amber eyes to look up at the cold blue ones belonging to the hulking boy. "Bradley, you're into so much fun. Promise you!" 

++++++++++++++++++++++

Bradley wasn't even surprised to the kids who bullied him wherever he went. His appearance was worth taunting, for he was only a kid, height dramatically inferior to his classmates, plus his mere presence an insult to their intellectual status.

It was also a slight torture to introduce himself in front of the class each period, with the immediate loathing and shock shown in each student's face. Brad took it all in a positive way, and tried to forget it as soon as the class started. 

He wasn't even affected when no one came to befriend him, he had expected that, even the girls he saw which left an impression to Brad as the goody-two-shoes kind had nothing to say to him. In a strange world like this, no one must expect the best treatment, for, evidently, Brad was painfully out of place, let alone his intelligence.

Few mentors held their admiration towards the boy, but everyone else was either uncaring or doubting of Brad's position in the first grade. Probably the only class which gave Brad a bit of special treatment was Mr. Roencraft, a teacher in Arts. 

Brad picked up his backpack, and blended in the crowd of first graders departing from the school. There was no one attempting to talk to him, resulting to his solitude. 

Suddenly a large hand came in contact with his right shoulder, steering him forward, almost hitting the wall. Bradley turned to the assailant sharply, hurt printed in his face, much to the amusement of the hulking boy in front of him. Steel blue eyes stared down at him, a hand raised, as if threatening to hit Brad on the face. 

"So… so, the new boy!" Brad remembered him called Charles, the one he's beside with in homeroom. He felt his heart beat fast, as more of the bullies came into view. 

"Oooo… I guess you're very intelligent, you! But will you know what will come now?" after the other boy's statement, a hand shoved Brad on the side, toppling him to the ground. Brad startingly looked up, eyes wide in surprise. The bullies burst into boisterous laughter, as the small child attempted to get up.

"Why are you doing this? Have I done anything wrong to you?" Brad silently asked, amber eyes anxious. And an alien feeling again surged through him… Fear… Fear towards these people who might give him casualty.

All of a sudden, Bradley wasn't seeing his hulking classmates, instead he was seeing a dark room, and three figures, one small… and raised hands, striking through the air. The child shivered, oblivous of the slaps on his biceps.

"Oh yes, mister!" Charles raised a hand again, then a voice stopped him, making the large boy lower his hand.

"Boys, what are you doing? Aren't you going home yet?" Brad turned to look at the tall man with auburn hair and dark eyes. 

"Mr. Roencraft!" Charles exclaimed, then gulped. "Yeah, we're going home. Goodbye, teacher!" he said to the mentor, then to Brad: "Goodbye… some other time, okay?" then they walked out of the school with suppressed snickers and laughter. 

This time, Brad got up, brushing his knees and gathering his backpack. His raven hair was a bit unruly from the bullying, but he ignored it and instead went to the mentor, who was already smiling.

"Are you okay, Bradley?" Mr. Roencraft asked, smiling down at him. Bradley nodded promptly, not daring to say another word about the boys. He wouldn't want to get them in trouble, they might go after him. 

A black Jaguar sped towards the entrance of the school, and Alan Crawford stepped out of the car, beckoning Brad to go in the car at once. 

"Thank you, Mr. Roencraft, goodbye," Brad said, and walked to his father, and slid on the passenger's seat. 

His father was beaming while driving the car. "So, how was your first day in the first grade?" 

Brad contemplated on his answer. It would be bad to lie, but it would be a bad thing also if his father knew about what happened. "It was uncomfortable," he said instead, lowering his amber eyes.

"It is at first, Bradley. You will soon enjoy it, believe me," the car stopped in front of Stephen's school, and the frizzy-haired boy got into the back seat at once, wiping sweats off his brow, then lighting up when he saw Brad.

"So how was school, Bradley?" Stephen tried hard not to sound mocking. And was successful for his father hadn't uttered a single word.

Brad sighed, clasping his hand rather tight on his lap. It was getting pretty hard to let the truth slip, so he just said: "Nice, Stephen."

And his vision became black as the replay of the earlier image came. This time it was so vivid that he swayed on his seat… Silhouettes three big boys holding rulers and pencil cases, and a crouched body looking up innocently with big, caramel eyes…

Bradley gasped.

What was… that?

****

TBC. 


	4. You came on the wrong party, hon

****

Metallseele

Chapter 4: _You came on the wrong party, hon_

Crickets were chirping outside, blending with the tranquility of Brad's room, adding to the atmosphere of drowsiness and imagination while Stephen reads his brother another bedtime story for the second time that night. And the older brother was very frustrated on Brad's unsleepy face as his voice tried to lull him to no avail.

Finally annoyed, Stephen closed the book irritably and looked steadily at his brother, who, at that time was staring aimlessly at the foot of the bed. 

"And what exactly bothers you this time?" Stephen asked a bit angry, due to the evident fact that his efforts are all just going to waste. 

Brad looked up, amber eyes not catching the light of the lampshade, resulting to the blank effect of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he managed to mutter through half-lidded eyes, locked on a point somewhere on the bed. 

"Don't tell me you see things again. If Mom would know this, she'll doubtlessly send you to the asylum soon..."

This time, Brad's eyes became attentive to Stephen. "Mom? Where is she? I thought she'd be here tonight..." 

Stephen's gray eyes darted somewhere in the room, and rested on the dresser opposite the bed. His chocolate hair, now combed, cascaded down his forehead in a neat manner, partly covering his right eye. "I dunno... most probably at work."

The older brother always knew it was a good lie, which Stephen naturally detested to do, but this time, Brad's gaze never left his brother's direction. Stephen felt it and returned the stare.

"What?" he spat, and was surprised to see Brad's usually fair expression with innocence transferred by pain and sadness, which awfully resembles Stephen's usual expression. "What is it?" Stephen asked again, when he gained no response from the child in question.

"But tomorrow's my birthday..." he replied quietly, resuming his stare on the mattress. Raven hair brushed his eyes a little, highlighting the dull amber of his eyes' hue.

Stephen sighed when his heart missed a beat, and opened the bedtime story book once again, readying his most lulling voice to the reading. However, when he did resume, Brad's eyes never lost the sadness, which troubled the 'good' part of Stephen's personality. Nevertheless, he continued the reading until Bradley's eyes dropped, finally falling asleep.

Sighing contentedly, Stephen discreetly closed the book and placed it neatly on top of the bedside table, knowing that the child would need it the night after this. He was partly worried about his mother, and probably there will be another issue on the living room Drama Theater once again. 

And perhaps, it will never cease this time, Stephen thought, finally closing the door and settling himself on top of the stairs, starting to get really comfortable.

Moments later, the door opened, signaling the start of the show. Alan's footsteps rang throughout the living room, and a stiletto sandal echoed as well, the arrival of Courtney. Whispered conversations tuned out as bass, and Stephen was indulging it like a 7th Heaven show in the late timeslot. 

"Courtney! Your son was vainly waiting for you, I hope you are aware of that!" Alan finally shouted, his calm demeanor once again destroyed. A silent chuckle followed the heated remark. But Stephen's mother didn't reply, and was just replaced by an angry statement from Alan yet again.

"You know! You're - you're sober enough to know that tomorrow is your son's birthday! What IS wrong with you?" a second of silence then a resounding slap as Stephen jumped from his seat, his imagination going overboard. Wide gray eyes stared at the foot of the stairs.

"How dare you accuse me of not remembering! Of course, how could I ever slip it from my mind? You're the only one being invisible from all these preparations I've been going through! For your information, Alan Crawford, I've been out late not because of business, not because of your rotten suspicions, but because of giving out invitations and arranging the catering service! Nothing is wrong with me, Alan, but you're just a hypocrite to see it all!" Courtney's heaving was heard and then sobs. "Goddamn, why are you like this, Alan?"

"Because sometimes you're a big hypocrite than you think I am and a selfish woman, Courtney. You should see that," Alan retorted icily, then stomped out of the living room to his study. 

"NO! Because you just fucking care about yourself!" Courtney yelled, still sobbing heavily. Stephen's chest constricted as he felt his mother's pain. Sometimes he wanted to go there in the living room and comfort his mother; however, he was still frightened of what reaction they might give him. Who would take the courage of comforting a mother who evidently doesn't like the one willing?

Stephen got up from his seat, eyes staring unfocused at space. He felt his hands trembling and instead closed it in fists so the shaking would terminate, for he believes it only mirrors his weakness over a simple situation that he had been long accustomed to. Yet his fears were deteriorating him, fear for his brother's expectations to his promised great birthday. His mother, earlier, was stable enough emotionally, however his father's remarks triggered fury over the couple, and perhaps tomorrow, it might be the worse that the little child least expected. 

Stealthily, he walked to his room, discreetly closing the door, despite the fact that their parents weren't in the position to care for them now. He flopped onto his bed, realizing it was already midnight and Stephen should really panic for it was way past his bedtime. Though he solefully wished the clock wouldn't tick a second again, so dreaded date, which was tomorrow won't come at all.

He stared at the ceiling for minutes, then closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his lids protesting to get some rest. 

"Damn this awful life..." he muttered, deciding that unconsciousness take him this time, to oblivion, to his utopia.

++++++++++++++++++++++

"See you later, Bradley," Stephen muttered to his brother, turning around, then added in a whisper, "and happy birthday once again." 

Bradley had heard this, and let a smile light his face before turning to walk into his school. Breakfast earlier that day was a bit uncomfortable, for his father hadn't brought his newspaper on the table and his mother had donned an obvious facade of happiness. Though for the special occasion, dishes served were different and more delicious than their ritual breakfast, which is composed of bacon, eggs and the occasional hotdog. 

And once in a while, or when Bradley brushed a family member's skin, the person would greet him a 'happy birthday', which aroused a puzzled expression on Bradley's face. He was joyful enough that his parents and his brother had treated the day as if it were the most special day, but their actions, especially their parents' were dramatically exaggerated. Let alone his brother of course. After Bradley and his brother had opened the front door, their mother said the time of his supposed celebration. 

But Brad was in a state of confusion, so the excitement that he should feel had no place in his mind. 

Gazing at his feet as he walked, he received several taunts and shoves, which he didn't notice at all. Before he knew it, he was just in front of his homeroom's door. Slowly he opened the door and faced the usual class who acts weirdly around him. Mrs. Russ was already there behind her table, scribbling notes on the blackboard, not even sparing Bradley a bit of a glance.

Just like yesterday. A normal day, to be precise.

"Good morning," Brad said meekly, then walked soundlessly to his seat near the person he now dreaded, who was eagerly staring up at him with those cold blue eyes. A large fist was extended on his far left, intentionally blocking his way to Brad's seat. 

"Well, good morning kiddo. Have you ever heard of child torture?" Charles snarled up at him, eyes glinting horridly, making Bradley's eyes wide in fear. 

"What do you mean?"

"Bradley Crawford! What are you doing? Sit down!" Mrs. Russ yelled in her high-pitched voice. Charles removed his arm, smiling innocently at their teacher in front, while the mentor's eyes screamed anger at Brad's direction.

"Next time, Bradley. Or later, boy," Charles hissed, opening his textbook as their teacher instructed them. Bradley looked at him for a moment with troubled amber eyes, and then tried hard to lose himself in his melee of thoughts. Brad was disturbed, confused and scared, yet there was nobody who can support him or even protect him. 

Nobody.

++++++++

"Oh so it's Bradley's birthday today, isn't it?" Brad looked up with a start as Mr. Roencraft smiled at him genuinely, clapping his hands softly for the class to quiet down. Brad returned the same smile, though taking a lot of effort with his face muscles. 

He currently sported a slight bruise on the arm and a light gash down his knee, due to the bullying in lunch and recess. (Fortunately both the casualty was well hidden from their long-sleeved jacket and long pants.) Naturally, teachers interrupted the abuse immediately after seeing it, and accused both parties for "fair" treatment. The guidance counselor talked to them and threatened to call their parents if they caused another trouble for the second time, the least that Bradley expected. It would be better for them to not know; he didn't want his parents to be angry and bothered over him.

For the first time, he had felt real, intense emotions wash over him from time to time, or whenever he's gone of the teacher's clutches. Brad had removed his indifference and replaced it with something that he couldn't quite place in his mind yet. 

However, being in this class made him feel relaxed and he had been able to slouch and stop being very over-observant of his surroundings. Fortunately, the big boys who usually bullied him were in the other class.

"Bradley? Bradley," Mr. Roencraft's voice broke into his thoughts, bringing a sort of grimace from the child. The mentor's smile grew wider as he clapped even louder, starting the song merrily.

His classmates were singing the song terribly, their voices in a steady monotone, and the others were fooling with the lyrics discreetly with a slight sneer, proving that they were included in the bullying club as well. When the song finally ended, and claps altogether silenced, Bradley stood up, and said in a crackled silent voice; just for formality:

"T-Thank you," he sat down from the final smile of his mentor, and the usual class started, also bringing up the random thoughts of the confused five-year old celebrant.

++++++++

Stephen kicked the rock in the assortment of gravel on his feet, and resumed taking in the nice scenery in front of him, tingling his senses further to their limit. The swing rattled violently, a warning that his weight is no longer applicable to the kindergarten playground. A large tree was directly in front of the gate and the trimmed grass were almost shining from the moist leaves. 

Though it was not the view Stephen was enjoying at that time. Beside the large tree was a group of higher-grade students, in a tight circle, a bunch of candles in the center, shining brightly despite the natural shine of the sun. A girl in a rather short skirt stood up, then started doing some things close to that of a dance. Stephen's gray eyes sparkled, then he leaned farther to see it quite in a good view. 

The girl was somehow familiar, but he just can't place her in his memories. Nevertheless, watching her gives Stephen a bit of an enjoyment and relaxation as the lithe body of the girl bent and curved, doing the intricate steps Stephen wasn't familiar with.

A hand weighed down on Stephen's shoulder and he jumped, startled from the sudden appearance. Grins and laughter greeted him when he turned, and he smiled despite his previous action.

"Stephen! You skipped class again, you're totally my idol now," a blond guy sat on the next swing, turning his gaze to the scene Stephen was watching. 

"Why are you here anyway? Missing childhood?" a brunette boy asked tauntingly, a smirk in place. The blond laughed, rattling the swing he was on. 

"Obviously not! Anyway..." Stephen said, his grin turning into a frown. "Do you experience seeing something that you felt you've seen somewhere in your life?" Silence followed the question, then hard laughter. 

"You mean that girl? Many wanted to SEE her somewhere before so they'd say a nasty excuse to be her friend. Gee, Stephen. You're in looooove!" the blond guy said, followed by the cackle of the brunette. Stephen's tanned cheeks turned red, and shook his head.

Stephen stood up, shoving his hands on the pockets of his navy blue slacks. "Nevermind, you crazy idiots. I planned to attend the next class, so you'd also better attend."

++++++++

Bradley reached for his belongings; all ready to leave the classroom when a hand started the job for him. Amber eyes looked up, meeting the spectacled black eyes of Mr. Roencraft. After arranging the books, notebooks and pens, the teacher put it neatly in Brad's bag, zipping it quickly, then giving it to the child.

"As my birthday present," a smile again was on the mentor's lips. Bradley returned a small curve of his lips and headed for the door of the room, Mr. Roencraft behind him. "I would walk you to the front door of the school, so you won't get in trouble, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, sir."

They were nearly on the exit of the school when a loud horn of a car was heard. Bradley recognized the sound, and saw his father getting out of the Jaguar, his brown hair quite disheveled; however his all-over appearance was enough to be called immaculate. 

"Brad, there you are!" the child's father shifted his look at the man accompanying his son, and the lenses of the glasses glared against the sunlight, shading his eyes. "Mr. Roencraft," Alan said to the mentor monotonously.

"Mr. Crawford, I'm glad to see you," the mentor replied in a joyful voice, contrasting that of Brad's father. "And I trust you've been doing all right?"

"And I trust you've been shedding confidentialities again, Mr. Roencraft?" Mr. Roencraft smiled, despite the remark and pushed Bradley slightly forward. 

"I'm glad you're fine. Very well, I must say goodbye now to you two," and to Bradley, Mr. Roencraft whispered a 'goodbye and happy birthday'. 

As the Jaguar's door was closed securely, Alan Crawford instantly started the engine, not even taking a single glance behind them where the mentor was waving in a friendly manner. When they were at least some fifty meters from the building, Bradley became curious of the previous event.

"You knew Mr. Roencraft?" Brad blurted out silently, and the car suddenly came to a halt in front of Stephen's school. The brown-haired boy was just starting to walk towards the door when Alan sighed audibly. 

"Yes, and very well too."

The door of the passenger seat opened, and a sweaty Stephen stepped in, the smell awfully unpleasant. "Hi Dad, hi Bradley," the 9-year old said gaily, removing his navy blue jacket. "It's so hot, ain't it?"

Brad was just starting to ask another question, but his father interrupted by scolding his older son heatedly. 

"When did you learn such inappropriate language, Stephen? You know well that it's not applicable to our proper tongue. Discard it, it's disgusting to hear."

Stephen closed his mouth and stared at his feet. "I will, I'm sorry."

++++++++

Courtney drove her Porsche, quite distracted by her thoughts that she missed the signals twice. Before she can reach the bend to the other street, her cellphone rang. With disturbed ease, she picked up her cellphone from the holder and pressed it on her ear.

"Hello, Courtney."

"Luege," she said, humor in her soft voice. "And what is it now?"

"Boredom has no ease, if you're not here, you know that well."

A smile tugged her lips as the deep voice let out a chuckle. "You're not so poetic, Luege."

"Ah, and I know that perfectly. Why don't you drop by here? Besides, it's Friday."

"I have important matters to attend to." 

"Am I not an important matter, then?"

"It's different. It's about my son. Spare a night for me."

"Too early, mein liebe. Drop by," Luege's voice was persuasive; hard to resist. Courtney bit her lip, brushing her long raven hair back with her hand. She let out a sigh and smiled. It really wouldn't hurt to be late for a few minutes on her son's birthday would it?

"I'll be there," she pressed the end button, and made a U-turn. As her car sped by, a Jaguar zoomed past her Porsche, and after going some blocks, she realized she just passed the red light again.

"Damn," Courtney cursed under her breath, though half glad that cops weren't around at that time of day. 

++++++++

"Happy Birthday, Bradley!" dozens of faces appeared before the doorway, the usual bare living room bearing a large banner and several strips of tinsel hanging from the ceiling behind the people making the child gasp in surprise. Every face in front of them donned a certain expression of gayness, that seemed to not affect the celebrant's emotions. 

Bradley was searching for his mother, scanning from the faces greeting them and behind those tall women, men and children as well. 

"Where is Mom?" it was the first thing Bradley uttered since he stepped in the house. His face was contorted with worry, same with his eyes which began to be shadowed. His Dad swept past them to his study, to relieve himself from the weight of his belongings, and Stephen remained standing at Brad's back, waiting desperately for a positive answer from the people standing before them. 

At last, after some murmuring on the visitors' part, a tall woman, a businesswoman from the looks of her, stepped near to Brad, gesturing her signature jacket clad arm as she spoke. "I believe she's not home yet. When we arrived here, the maids ushered us in. Perhaps she was stuck in the traffic. Your mom would arrive soon, I know that. It's your birthday, dear. Let us celebrate," the woman took Brad's small hand, not waiting for an objection or a remark, leading the child to the heart of the house, which was filled with chairs and tables and candles and food. 

Bradley let his eyes roam around the room, a bit fascinated about the transformation of the usual lifeless part of the house. And on the chairs around a small table sat Bradley's schoolmates - not his friends, (and he haven't got friends, for that matter) rather those who always bullied him - making him dwell in silent fear and confusion.

"They are your schoolmates, aren't they? Go on, join them," the businesswoman pushed Bradley forward, and the child had no choice but to follow her words. Fake smiles were thrown towards him, which obviously didn't reach through their cold eyes. 

"Happy Birthday, Bradley," one of them, a big boy, one who always follow Charles spat disdainfully at Brad, the boy's face changing once the celebrant got close to them. 

"Thank y-"

"No need to thank me, Bradley boy. My pleasure," the boy said, his words heavily tainted with sarcasm. Bradley winced.

"Ladies, gentlemen, children. Welcome," Alan Crawford said out loud, standing behind Bradley. The child sighed inwardly, thanking for the nice interruption. Glancing forward, he saw his schoolmates wearing their hideous masks of innocence. He tore his glance from them, instead focusing at the other guests lined in front of them. 

"We are here for the birthday celebration of Bradley, who currently turned five years old... too young but too special," Alan squeezed his son's shoulder and Brad smiled weakly at the guests, gazing at them happily and lovingly. For the first time, Brad witnessed his father being almost at loss for words. Glancing upwards, he saw his father's spectacles glaring the light, hiding his eyes, his lips in a tight line, and his brow furrowed in thinking.

After a few moments, his father talked again. "I hope you'll all have a good night." With that, Alan Crawford literally scurried out of the circle of people, most probably heading for his study to do things much more relevant than this celebration. 

Stephen placed his hands on Brad's shoulders, steering him towards the table where his schoolmates were seated. "Hey," Stephen greeted, not noticing the forced smiles on their beefy faces. Brad looked down, then at the door, expecting his mother to come in. But the door didn't open. 

"Hello," the big boy returned. 

"So you're Brad's schoolmates?"

"Yup," came the casual retort, which made Bradley turn to look at the face of the big boy. Hate flashed in the bully's eyes as it gazed Brad's. 

"So how do my brother do in school? Bad, good?" Stephen's tone was teasing, and he added a chuckle to that. Brad gazed at the door again.

"He's very smart."

"Oh," Stephen glanced at the direction of Brad's gaze. "Excuse us," he grasped Brad's elbow, leading him to the seats on the place closest to the main door. 

"What is it?" Brad asked, baffled on his brother's actions. Stephen grimaced, then frowned.

"I don't like them. I hate how they do their browning," his brother replied, picking up the glass and drinking from it. "And don't think I haven't noticed how they looked at you."

++++++++

"Is that your cellphone ringing?" Luege asked, pouring liquor from the bottle of Jack Daniels to the glass in front of Courtney, who was supporting her head with her right hand on the bar. 

After getting her companion's message to her mind, Courtney cackled loudly, pounding her fists on the marble table in mirth. "You're way too drunk, darling," she replied in her slurred voice, then taking the glass from Luege, drinking it in a few gulps. Suddenly she slammed the glass on the table, her forehead crinkling in hard thinking. "Where is Bradley and Alan? Damn them..."

Luege laughed boisterously, pouring himself a drink. His face was flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes were glazed. "Oh well... Liebe, you're drunk too!"

"But they're supposed to..." Courtney giggled softly, the alcohol swirling in her head.

"They're not going to be here. You came on the wrong party, hon," Luege replied, laughing insanely, then after a moment, Courtney joined too, her son's birthday entirely forgotten from the heaviness of her head and the effect of alcohol in her mentality.

++++++++

After long hours of waiting, after all of the guests cleared up, after the two of them finally ate until they felt sleepy, after all the greetings and good-byes, Stephen and Bradley were still staring at the front door, wishing it would open and reveal their mother. Brad's chest was painfully contracting, and he hated to admit it, but he wanted to cry. His mother had promised Brad of many things, but only half of it was fulfilled. And even that half was not satisfying. 

It was already ten o'clock.

And his mother hasn't come.

They can hear their father's soft swearing from the study, making them feel nervous on what reaction their father would take when their mother finally came home. Stephen was disturbed on Brad's possible reaction when their mother comes home. He was sure their Mom had been in the club again, drinking and worse... The boy shook his brown mane of hair and then stood up. He wasn't just going to let his brother witness what he doesn't deserve to see.

"Brad? Time for you to go to bed," Stephen said softly, tugging lightly at the thin fabric of Brad's jacket. 

"Mom isn't here yet," Brad returned, his voice monotonous and hoarse. There was a touch of coldness in it, which made Stephen gasp mentally. 

"You should sleep early. It's not healthy for you to stay up late."

"I have to wait," the voice was commanding. Still cold. 

Stephen put both of his hands on his brother's shoulders, trying to shake him off from the probable dullness in his head. He hasn't seen Bradley in such insensitivity and bold determination, and seeing him in this state frightened him. 

"But you should. Dad would be angry if I don't let you sleep now. You could get sick, and that will make Mom worried." 

Previously tense shoulders softened from Stephen's grasp, and a soft sigh followed. Tired amber eyes gazed up at his gray ones, and Brad let his older brother drag him to his feet. Halfway through the stairs, Bradley stopped walking, turning his amber orbs to Stephen.

"Would you wake me up if she comes home?" 

"Yes," it was a direct lie, but Stephen had no choice. The door of their father's study banged open, then staring up at the two of them, anger on his face. 

"You two, go to bed. Now," their father ordered, his brown hair disheveled, and his dress shirt, which was neat a while ago, was already wrinkled and untucked. After that, he hurried to his study, grasping his cellphone tightly in his hand. 

Brad looked up at Stephen, but the older one chose not to return the gaze, or he'll be bugged again with the issue already at hand. 

"Good night, Bradley," Stephen muttered, averting his gaze from his younger brother.

"Good night," Bradley closed the door of his room, and then Stephen began breathing normally again. He went to his own room, closing the door behind him silently. Whatever was to happen tonight in the living room would be much drastic than before, Stephen thought as he changed into his nightclothes. And there's no way Brad, in his birthday, had to hear or even see this.

Stephen slumped on his bed, putting an Iron Maiden cassette tape on the stereo, then placing the earphones on his ear. If he were to face violence, he'd have to put the introduction in first. 

And that's what he was doing.

++++++++

Bradley woke up with a sudden rush of images in his head. Staring at the ceiling, the images built a scene, something like a movie. It was not a dream; he knew that, because the images were very sharp and too vivid. 

His hands resting on his chest trembled slightly at the first person appearing in the scene. Long, ruffled raven hair spread on the shoulders and face, one glinting gray eye appearing from the tangled hair. A long, pale arm dangled lifelessly and the other extended on the wall, supporting her weight. 

"Mom..." Bradley murmured, eyes still transfixed at the ceiling.

His father appeared, brown hair disheveled, mouth pronouncing 'Courtney' and other quick motions that was impossible to know by just looking. The woman's head tilted, opening her mouth, obviously laughing, the eyes open and blank. The dry lips formed some words, which made his father's face fill with rage. 

"Dad...?" Bradley twitched on the bed, and the vision disappeared, transferred by the white ceiling above him. After a moment, the ceiling dissolved in black, images jumbling then a scene came again in his mind.

A hand was brought up and then slammed somewhere. Then, his mother's face bore pain and amusement as her fingers played on her red right cheek. That hand swept up, then got hold by a firm muscled arm that was his father's. Another swift motion, and the woman slumped down again. 

The vision dissipated again, and this time, a loud shrieking voice was heard, and it was evidently not from his mind.

It was from the living room.

++++++++

Stephen gasped loudly, sitting in the shadows of the top of the stairs, eyes filling up with tears as the scene unfolded before him. His mother has already arrived at midnight, and from his father's rage, he had hit her, causing his mother to shriek out loud. Then, a soft click was heard, and Stephen's heart raced. He was expecting a gunshot, but all he got was another heated fight, and a warm hand shaking his shoulder. 

"Stephen... Stephen..." Bradley said in a panic-filled soft voice. Stephen, despite his tear-filled eyes and face looked up at his brother in surprise, readying himself to scold and usher his brother to his room. But his body was shaking. 

"Bradley, go to your... room... Hey - hey Brad!" Stephen stood up, though slumped back again from his weakened knees. Brad had run down the stairs, his eyes worried and panicked. 

"Mom..." Brad murmured, running towards the living room. "Mom!"

Two heads turned from the call, one angered and the other amused. 

"Bradley! Why are you out of your room? You're supposed to be asleep!" Alan Crawford yelled, glancing at Courtney from time to time. 

Brad ignored his father, and ran to his mother, hugging her tightly. Her smell reminded Brad of heated mint but he didn't care. Mom was finally home, and it was enough to make him happy.

But Brad didn't understand the whole situation.

Courtney's hand shoved Brad away, laughing all the while. Alan glared at his wife, grasping Brad's hand and held him tightly, as if he were in danger. Gray eyes glinted insanely as the laughter ceased. 

"Mom? Why...? Why aren't you in my birthday?" Brad asked softly, controlling himself from not crying. 

"Birthday? Whose birthday?" his mother chuckled. "There's no birthday, darling. Now shut up and let me cross to my room."

Brad was struck, eyes filled with shock. Cold tears escaped from his eyes, going down his cheeks, trailing pale skin to the long neck. The hold on Bradley softened, and he felt his father's hands squeezing his arm, as if comforting him though uneasily.

"Stop this now, Courtney," his father's voice drawled dangerously. Shrill laughter followed, making Bradley wince. "You're drunk. Go to your room now."

"Mom...?" Broken sobs escaped Bradley's lips and he watched as his mother picked herself up, then walking dazedly to her room upstairs. And there, on the steps was Stephen, sitting down, sobbing as well as the female figure went up the steps, hardly noticing the person sitting on the steps. 

"Go to your room, Bradley. You have to sleep," his father's voice was careful and soft. Seeing Stephen, Alan signaled his older son to fetch his brother in the living room. Stephen complied, willing his knees to be strong for some moment. And Brad's father left him crying there on the carpet, staring blankly at a point on the couches.

"Bradley... let's sleep now..." Stephen pulled his brother to his feet, half-dragging him to his room. Tears were cascading down the small child's pale cheek, but his eyes were blank, nevertheless pained. When they reached the hallway to Brad's room, the child tore his arm from the older boy and slammed the door shut.

Bradley tucked in the sheets, wishing all were just a vivid dream. He wished he were still asleep, but his tears were proof he is awake, and the pain in his chest proving that it wasn't all a dream. 

+++

It was past midnight, and Bradley Crawford's birthday had just ended.

He had just entered his first few hours of being a five-year-old.

And it was the beginning of his soul to be torn apart.

****

TBC. 

****

AN: That was quite long isn't it? Thank you for the few people who reviewed, nonetheless gave me inspiration for this story. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, as I've enjoyed writing it. Reviews are always welcome. Finished: 11:55 PM 5/24/03


	5. The Speed of Pain

****

Metallseele

Chapter 5: _The Speed of Pain_

Stephen switched the channel for the nth time, and then settled for the premiere snooker league just because it looked weird and foreign to him. Near his sitting position on the couch was a bag of potato chips and a couple of chocolate wrappers strewn about the floor and the couch. His feet were nestled onto the fluffy white carpet and his left arm was draped on the back of the furniture, the other free to accommodate his want to fish food beside him and pop it into his mouth. 

The glory of weekends... Stephen thought, grinning while the player named Ebdon missed a pretty easy shot, which he concluded while the commentator went chuckling and commenting like a bullet train. The other player stood up, face impassive and concentrated then professionally shot the small balls into the pockets. Audience clapped at the impressive skill, yet the face of the player on the table still remained indifferent; as if he didn't hear the compliments being directed to him. 

Stephen dipped a hand in the bag of chips, extracting a large piece of potato chip and crunched it in his mouth. He wondered... That face of the player resembled Bradley's _expression last night when they were waiting for their mother. Stephen bit his lip as the memories onslaught him quite painfully. He was still a child, but why does he act like someone... someone older than the child's age? And what about those things he sees? 

A child who has a mind of a seven year-old and sees things. What does his innocence provide for his well-being? Stephen sighed dismissively, switching the channel until he reached the 50th channel in their cable TV. Nothing really interested him in the shows which their TV was showing, so he decided to turn it off, and settled on the couch, emptying the bag of junk food. 

But Bradley still worried him. After what happened last night, what would be the outcome? His parents loved Brad so much that they hated to hurt him, but they already did, so what should they do? Their disappearance had nothing to do with the issue; they were at work, as usual, but still... If they were home, what would happen? Bradley was perhaps already awake in his room, far from recovering of his shock. It was their mother who hurt him, which was the least Stephen expected, and to Brad likewise. 

"Sir Stephen?" a shy voice broke in Stephen's thoughts. The boy turned around, brushing the stubborn brown hair out of his eyes. It was the young maid.

"Yes?" 

"Madam Crawford instructed me to tell you to wake Sir Bradley at ten o'clock. It's already time, sir," the young maid said, hands clasped nervously on her front. 

"Okay," Stephen retorted shakily, finally coming to a nervousness building inside him. He carelessly placed the bag of chips down the couch, slipping into his slippers hastily and hurried up the stairs. Before knocking, he leaned to the door, determining if Bradley was awake or asleep. Weird enough, there was no sound coming from the inside. 

Stephen assumed he was asleep, but at 10? Before he could twist the knob, the door opened freely, shoving him inside the room. Not fast enough to grab the doorframe, he fell onto the carpet, back first, then looked up at the glassy amber orbs staring down at him. There was no smile of amusement printed on his face and his lips were drawn into a tight line of seriousness... and of something else. 

"You fell," Bradley uttered softly, not even extending a hand. The small child was still in his dark pajamas, yet his features exuded neatness despite the clothing. Stephen found it hard to say a word, less of the continued wince from the pain building on his back. 

Stephen's breathing returned to normal, and he sat up, rubbing his back, then finally found his voice. "Obviously, Brad. You're not helpful today. Help me up," he extended his hand, and with a small sigh, Bradley grasped the hand and pulled him up. 

"So you're already awake. I'm supposed to wake you up, but you're already up. How long have you been awake?" the brunette asked, brushing back the annoying locks of hair falling into his face. Looking down at Brad, he felt a sense of newness from the kid. Somehow, it didn't appeal to Stephen.

"About seven o'clock," Brad answered shortly, standing still and face focused blankly at his older brother. "I couldn't drift to sleep again, so I just lay down until now."

"Are you all right?" Stephen blurted out, and hated himself for even asking. That's an obvious thing to even ask, but the face of his brother didn't change a bit. Yet his eyes turned tired, and Brad closed them, while shifting from one foot to another. 

"The truth is, not quite."

"I understand," Stephen gritted his teeth. "Breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry -" before the child could finish the statement, he was pulled to the stairs, then to the dining room. "Why did I even ask? It's mandatory to eat breakfast for a little kid like you," Stephen grumbled under his breath as he started to give instructions to the maids. Not long after, asparagus soup and a croissant were served to Brad, and the little child stared at the plates dispassionately, as if he had just gone to a restaurant and filled his stomach until he couldn't breathe.

"Eat, I command you," Stephen took the seat in front of Bradley, staring at his brother irritably. It sickened him to play big brother or even a babysitter, however, it couldn't be helped. Apparently, he's the only one in the family to make Bradley comfortable now.

Slowly, Brad picked up the utensil, scooping a spoonful of soup then stared at it. He let the thick liquid spill onto the bowl and did it again until Stephen popped a nerve on his temple. 

"And I thought you were mature for your age! Oh, how stupid of me!" Stephen rolled his eyes then slammed his hand on the table, causing the utensils to clatter and the table to vibrate. "Bradley, wake up, you're not dreaming! That is soup. S-O-U-P. Do you know soup, even? Oh, goodness. Now I sound like a nanny," Stephen scowled, crossing his arms on his chest, gritting his teeth angrily. 

Of course, it wasn't Bradley's fault why he could not eat; it was their parents´ fault. For being so careless, so insensitive and... stupid. Stephen thought heatedly, while watching the child lose the blank _expression and turn into wonder and a bit of guilt.

"Sorry. I don't have the appetite, that's all."

"Then you must lose the stubbornness and just damningly eat. If you complain later of stomach problems, I'll really leave you alone 'til you roll on the floor."

"That's not nice."

Stephen exasperatedly leaned on the back of the chair and sighed loudly. "Naturally, it's not nice. But I'll do it, nevertheless. Just eat, is that understood? It's weekend, so don't let me suffer," Stephen huffed and walked away to the living room. 

Bradley stirred the soup, and then decided to go to his brother's words. He placed a spoonful of soup near his lips and sipped. Warm and comforting, it slid down his throat, yet after his eighth spoonful of soup, the soup tasted bland and lukewarm, which slid down his throat coldly. He started with the croissant, but it was like cardboard and he couldn't eat another bite of it. Face contorted in worry and pain, he pushed the plates away, then sipped his juice, which tasted more like vomit than orange.

"Miss Lara..." Bradley called from the counter, then a small, young girl emerged from behind it, in a maid's uniform. 

"Yes, Sir Brad?"

"Please clean up the dining table. I'm already full. Thank you," with that, Bradley stealthily made his way upstairs, glancing from time to time at his brother watching TV and nibbling on his potato chips. The TV showed an action rodeo movie which didn't even appeal Stephen in the past, he knew. Giving one last glance at his older brother, Brad went to his room, closing the door, making sure it's locked.

+ + + + + + 

"Mom..." a pair of amber eyes stared at steel grey ones, swirling in a background of red. "Do you love me?"

"What do you think?" soft, angelic voice... a hand tangled in raven hair. A warm breath tingling his skin...

"You love me, Mom. Of course, right?"

Silence. A silent deep chuckle, crescending to a loud laugh. Then silence. Then the laugh. Then a loud, deafening voice laughing again, pausing to deliver the answer in the same boisterous voice. 

"What are you saying? I love you?" Sarcasm, disbelief, amusement, anger. "What are you talking about?" Two bloodshot grey eyes. A pair of tear-streaked cheeks. A hand hitting on the soft skin of the face. And three words yelled in disdain:

"I HATE YOU!"

The little form on the bed bolted upright, breathing heavily, grasping his chest fearfully, heartbeats increasing. Raven hair fell on the teary amber eyes, further making it moist. His face was sweating, as well as his whole body. When he finally caught his own breath, he turned to observe himself, and made sure he was just dreaming a while ago. 

Bradley was still in his dark pajamas, yet he was not nestled in the sheets, meaning he just slept there without knowing. The clock told him it was already eleven o'clock in the morning, so he decided to take a shower and go down to the living room. 

The little child stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Warm water cascaded down his small shoulders, soothing his muscles quite nicely. His head was partly aching from the sleep, he thought. Or from the dream, most probably. The screams were incredibly life-like that it almost tore his head apart. And the look of his mother... he shook his head to make the image disappear. 

For the meantime, he decided, Bradley wanted to spare himself of the pain of thinking of his mother. Hard as it was, for he still longed the presence of his dear Mom - the mother he used to know not like the person he saw last night, but he needed it. 

He turned off the water and then caught the sight of his hands wet from the shower. In wonder, he stared at it as the water slowly slid down until it reached the curve of his hands, then falling to the bathroom floor. 

All of a sudden, it turned crimson, thick red liquid flowing down his fingers, tainting his nails, and the odour suffocating. Eyes widening from the change, he violently thrashed his hands, but in vain of releasing the fearsome sight. Bradley caught images of people decapitated and a pistol drenched in red, further making him sick on his stomach. He suppressed his screams of fear and closed his eyes; the only available option for him to not see. But blood and gore seemed to be permanent in his mind, swimming in the decapitated bodies lying on some unfamiliar territory. Brad tore his hair, and his head was painfully throbbing like it would burst. Slowly, like a fading picture, it disappeared to infinite darkness of his mind, and he gasped; the tension slowly dissipating. Breathing ragged and rasp, he sat down the bathroom floor, eyes opening slowly to invite the image of his palms, expecting to see what seemed to be blood, but instead saw the droplets of water lying on top of it.

Brad breathed deeply and stared at his hands. Were it those visions he was seeing like then? Or was he just going mad? If he told Stephen this, would he really tell his Mom to send him away to an asylum? The visions were getting morbid everyday, and Brad was confused of this; there was no possible explanation for it. For some reason, what he saw in his head came true at times, so that would mean the latest vision would? He shivered, and got a towel, the steam of the bathroom fading, leaving the cold emptiness of the room.

If it would come true, then whose blood was it? Bradley thought, slipping into his bathrobe. For no reason at all, the earlier dream went again to his head, reminding him of the blood-shot eyes of his mother...

"Mom? No..." Brad whispered, cradling his pounding head on his hands. 

++++ 

Brad went downstairs, ignoring the food prepared on the table. He went straight to the living room, and seeing Stephen seated on the couch, Brad settled on the leather chair, hands folded on his lap, watching what was on the TV. He rarely watched TV, because most of the time then, they would spend the weekends out of the house, and if Brad were alone in the house, he would just read some books in their library. And now, being in a chaotic mental mess, he decided to try something new. 

It was a concert Stephen was watching of a band who all had long hair and weird make-up. The backdrop of the stage literally screamed violence and darkness to Bradley, but Stephen didn't seem to notice it, for he watched it with delight printed on his face.

"Something wrong?" the brunette asked, eyes still locked on the TV.

"Nothing," the raven-haired child looked down, staring at his feet. There was silence for Stephen's part for some moments before he finally replied. "I'm going out," he said nonchalantly. "Later."

"Uh? Where are you going?"

"Is that important to you?" Stephen spat loudly. 

"You're my brother," Brad bit his lower lip. "I want to go with you."

Stephen smirked, then laughed, the laugh not reaching his steel grey eyes. "I'm going to meet my friends. I'm surprised. You're interested to know the background of my friends, hmm? Determine if I'm bad as they are?" He laughed again, but his eyes remained impassive. 

Brad went silent, watching the band thrash around, hauling their guitars on the air, then playing brusquely. Fireworks the colour of crimson fired up into the air, creating a glow around the stage, which created a morbid mental image in Bradley's thoughts, which was bloodshed. 

Stephen sighed tiredly, letting his left hand fall to his lap noisily. He brought his right hand up to his hair, brushing it briefly and stood up. "Okay, you can come. But only today. This is not going to be a weekend event." He turned the television off and stood up. "So get dressed, or I'll leave you."

Bradley stared at his brother's back, stretching his arm all the while. He reconsidered the thought of eating, but immediately discarded it, fearing the anorexic reaction to the food, brought by the unknown emotion hitting him in his head. He also went to his bedroom to get dressed, to fully obey his brother.

+ + +

"Stephen!" a brunette shouted from the distance, bathing in the blinding sunlight on the deserted grounds. The afternoon was very humid, the wind was not blowing, and the air remained hot and dry, making the afternoon hardly a time for strolling. Behind the brunette, a small figure emerged, head down, and locks of raven hair cascading on his forehead. 

The lad in question titled his head, while kicking the dry gravel on his feet. "What?" an annoyed sideward glance was thrown at the small figure, then resumed its stare on the gravel.

"You already quittin' on babysitting your brother? Well, it's only fifteen minutes," the brunette said as he came close to Stephen. He carelessly sat on the grounds, then lay on the grass, looking up at the blond guy slumped on one of the benches. "Can he make a record of being a good 'ol brother for an hour? What do you think, Davis?"

"Think not," Davis retorted, an automatic lopsided grin on his face. The sunlight fell on his blond locks, making it look like they were glowing. Stephen bared his teeth at his two friends, then sat beside the brunette, twisting a blade of grass. 

"Can we go somewhere else? This place is making me sick," Stephen remarked, snapping the grass bit by bit. At the word 'sick', his younger brother glanced at him, brows knitted in worry.

"Where then? School?" Davis laughed, stopping when a car sped up near them. Stephen groaned inwardly, as his memory said it was their mother's Porsche, and therefore the almighty queen was inside. His mother was least of his worries, but he was worried a bit, how Brad would react if they met each other today. 

"Damn," Stephen muttered, lowering his look so that his hair would partly cover his eyes. Glancing sidewards, he saw his brother likewise staring at the Porsche, and from the blank look, Stephen concluded that his brother was in the same state as him. 

"Who's that?" the brunette asked, poking Stephen on the side. "Gorgeous car. Those things are the stuff I see on TV!" 

"Who the heck is that? Stephen, you know the owner?" Davis placed a hand on Stephen's shoulder, lending his weight on the sitting guy. Annoyed, Stephen shrugged the hand off, and edged away from his friends, to the spot where his mother possibly wouldn't see him. 

The driver's door of the Porsche opened, and out stepped a tall woman with raven hair, a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses perched on her head. Fortunate for Stephen, for his mother evidently didn't see him because her stare was just focused on her raven-haired son who was standing some few feet from her.

"Bradley..." she uttered, brows knitted in a near-crying _expression. 

"Mom," the child uttered, though still not changing the blank _expression on his face. His mother clamped a hand on her mouth, reminding Stephen of those sappy no-plot drama series on TV. 

Both friends turned to Stephen, mouth slightly agape. It was Davis who first said something, in an unbelievable tone. 

"She's your Mom? Why didn't you tell us in the first place?"

"Apparently, she is. Why should I bother telling you? You're going to find out, anyway!" Stephen hissed, throwing both his friends a dirty look. The brown-haired boy rolled his eyes as a so-clichéd-you-could-vomit scene unfolded on his sight. His mother hurried in her stiletto sandals to her loving son to embrace him. Though the only flaw in the near-retching scene was the _expression on Brad's face. 

Stephen inwardly shivered as he saw Brad's blank _expression. Shouldn't he be happy to be at once be reunited with his mother? This Bradley he sees now seemed to be out of himself, and much like a grown-up with reason and mature thinking. Not a child would don a blank look once his mother tries to be at peace and love again with her son...

Courtney Crawford hugged Brad's small frame tightly, sacrificing her smooth knees by digging them on the ground for better access on the hug. "Bradley... I'm very sorry. Just forget about everything bad that happened, please?"

A blank look. Stephen cursed under his breath. 'What is this?' Stephen thought irritably.

"Mom... do you hate me?" Bradley whispered, caramel eyes locked onto the steel grey ones that belonged to his mother. 

"Why? Of course not... Don't think like that. I love you always," his mother said, hugging Brad again. Stephen gagged, now physically which created gasps from both sides. 

"Not your type of setting, eh?" the brunette taunted Stephen, smirking. "This is award winning, so there's no time to be embarrassed." Stephen shot his friend a glare, then resumed watching the mother and son reunion beneath the mass of hair. Davis snickered.

Finally, Courtney began to stand up, of course brushing the dirt off her knees before fully standing up. She took Brad's hand tightly, then set off to the car. "Let's go. We'll spend this afternoon together," his mother said happily, not even glancing at the surroundings. Bradley looked at Stephen for a moment, eyes blank, but lips turned up in a smile while he was getting into the car of his mother.

"She forgot about you, Stephen. That sucks," Davis commented, shaking his head. Stephen slapped Davis' back of the head, then walked from them, cursing under his breath. 

"Shut up, idiots," he spat, while the two followed him. On the corner of his eyes, he watched the Porsche speed away from the park, and inside, he felt a pang of ache, which he constantly ignored, yet still remained in his mind.

+ + +

Bradley watched his mother hum a fast song, a smile lightening her features, and her hands tapping with the rhythm. Her eyes, which had large eyebags under them were rimmed with kohl-coloured eyeliner, and her lips were smudged with blackish lipstick, which made Brad think of the Goths he saw in TV.

"You know Bradley," his mother said, chewing on her lower lip absentmindedly. "I figured we never get together these days. I think a little reunion would be a nice idea, don't you think?"

Brad looked at his mother's grey eyes, and nodded. "Yes, I do think so," Brad said, after thinking that his nod wouldn't be heard by his mother. The smile widened on her face, then she continued the fast tune she had been humming a while ago.

The raven-haired child watched the cars outside his window, which were inferior to their car. And on every car that passed them, an image of Stephen kept appearing on Brad's mind. 

"Stephen..." Brad murmured.

+ + +

Davis followed Stephen close, trying to match the taller boy's large steps. The brunette was also doing the same, although not succeeding. The brunette sighed melodramatically, swiping the back of his hand on his sweating forehead. 

"Oh help me God! Why is our dear friend acting like a bitch," the brunette said loudly, spreading his arms in effect. At that, Stephen stopped, staring daggers at the boy who had just insulted him. Davis stopped as well, catching his breath, his back bent, and his hands gripping his knees. 

"A bitch, you say?" Stephen asked, glaring at his friend. Davis glanced at them both and shook his head. A soft 'nonsense' was muttered under the blond's breath.

"Yes, you heard right! Why are you acting this way? I thought we would have fun today!"

"Fun?" Davis said, then chuckled. When Stephen turned to glare at the brunette, the blond hurried between them, arms separating the two. "Hey, hey! We're eleven years old(*), to fight like kids!"

Stephen resumed walking, hands shoved in his pockets. He was overly annoyed at the fact that his mother hadn't even paid for her mistakes that night. He thought that his mother had considered the event a normal thing that kids would experience, but in fact, it had a disturbing effect on children, like Bradley. 

"Okay, I apologize," the brunette told Stephen, landing into step beside him. "It's just that you don't tell us what's wrong. It pisses me off, 'coz you're the one who planned this get-along." 

"Hehehe... get-along... crap," Stephen laughed, slapping Davis on the back. "Nothing's wrong, actually, Vienfer. I'm just angry with my brother and tried not to vent it to the two of you," he lied, though hiding it successfully by not showing his friends his face.

"Why would you get angry with your brother? He seems to be kind and quiet a while ago," Davis asked, kicking the stones on his way. 

"He's weird too," Stephen continued, dismissing the remark from Davis. "He tells me that he sees things which actually happens after some hours," Stephen thoughtfully looked at the skies. "It's as if he's predicting it."

The brunette called Vienfer turned to Stephen, his face an _expression of amazement. "You mean, he's like, a psychic?"

"Dunno... if he is, then he's a freak," Stephen concluded.

+ + +

Brad looked around the vicinity, amazed at how the lights moved so fast that he couldn't distinguish the colours. The two of them walked into a fairly dim room, seeing people gathered in large groups, others were solitary, others with few companions. Bradley was amazed, too, how the place seemed to hold a thousand people, and still, there were plenty of room for a hundred to stand in a foot's distance. 

The hand that had been gripping Bradley's hand pulled him quickly to a room, which had dim yellow light, and there were no multicoloured lights roaming about the room. There were many tables beside the wall, and on the side was a long, long bar which lined liquors in different bottles and long-stemmed glasses hanging upside-down, in an array of sizes. They went to a table near the bar, his mother donning a wide smile.

A waiter quickly approached them, in an all-black attire, the man's hair carefully styled, which made Brad think that he's fit more of a bartender, instead of being a waiter.

"We'll have two orders of tomato fettuccine with scallops, one zesty bloody mary, and one chilled fruit punch. Yes, that's all," Courtney told the waiter, and then immediately after the waiter left, she smiled at Brad, and held his tiny hands.

"This place is so beautiful, don't you think? I really like this place, and now we're going to eat in it," she said, pure merriment in her grey eyes. For a moment, her _expression saddened, but replaced by a wide smile again. "I'm very sorry about all that I have done. Do you forgive me?"

Bradley stared blankly at his mother, then gave her a small smile. "I do forgive you," he replied shortly, wondering why his mother was so excited. Surely, it wasn't Brad she was excited with, but there's something else...

The waiter appeared again, with their orders. The pasta looked delicious enough that Brad remembered his hunger, and wanted to eat at once. He forgot his manners and dug into his food, shoving the fork in his mouth, liking the taste in his mouth.

"Hungry, aren't you? Haven't you eaten lunch?" his mother remarked.

Brad nodded his head briefly and then resumed eating his pasta. Suddenly, his mother exclaimed a name, which caused him to look up, while drinking his punch. There was a very tall man with almost cropped reddish orange hair, and handsome features. Magenta spectacles with silver rims were on the man's eyes, further emphasizing the built of his face. 

"Luege! What a surprise," his mother said in a honey-tainted voice. The man smiled, revealing near-perfect teeth. 

"Hello. Who's the kiddie?" the man asked in an accented voice. The spectacled eyes turned to Bradley, and the child nodded to acknowledge the man's presence. 

Courtney seemed to hesitate for a moment, then replied softly, "He's my son, Bradley. Say hi to Luege, Bradley," she said to the child, who stared blankly at his mother, then did what he was told. He waved his little hand quickly, then tucked it under the table hastily.

"Bradley, excuse us, we have something to talk about," his mother stood up, and went to the farthest place near the bar where Brad couldn't see them. 

"Luege! Was your appearance a coincidence, or did you do it intentionally?" Courtney said heatedly, her previously smiling face turned into a gaunt _expression. 

Luege raised his hands, as if for defense. "Hey, I was thinking of drinking a glass or two when I walked in on the two of you. It was pure coincidence, I swear."

"Well, fine. Just don't do it again, for the child may think other things about us."

"Bradley? Are you kidding me?"

"He's more mature than you think he is," Courtney said, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Oh fine. Meine Liebe... how about tonight?" Luege wrapped his muscular arms around her waist, drawing her close to his body. Courtney shrugged him off, ignoring the man's intentions towards her. 

"Tonight, I'm occupied. I'm sorry, Luege. Yesterday I was a wreck, and I don't want to let it happen again."

"Wreck?" Luege's cellphone rang, and he ignored it, putting it in his pocket.

"Nevermind. See you tomorrow, or the day after that mein Lieber," she spat, and walked away, to her son once again.

+++

"It has been found out that the target is in category one, third position, probably.

"It wasn't exact. The information which was obtained was incomplete. 

"Yes sir. More information will be given the next time.

"Yes, of course. I will. Sic, sic (**). 

"Suus nomen (***)? Crawford. Sic. Ave.(****)"

****

TBC.

+ + + + 

(*) - I thought that Stephen's age in chapter 1, which was 9 is too

inappropriate for him. So now, he's 11. 

(**) - Latin word for 'yes'. I don't know if this is correct, for I only got it

from my english/latin freelang dictionary in my computer.

(***) - Latin phrase for 'his name'.

(****) - Latin word for 'goodbye'. Really, like Ave Maria. Heheh (Ave Caesar!! lol)

Beta note: Luege = Lüge = ´lie´ in german XD (waaah! You bad beta! hehe)

****

AN: Because of college adjustments and craps related to it, this chapter had been delayed for long days, even months. So now, thanks to my unstable mind, I've finished this chapter! Thanks to my great beta, **Picaro**! Luv ya! ~.^ And as usual, thanks to all the people who reviewed. (Though I wish you would put your e-mail addresses so I can mail the answers to your questions.) You're the reason why I finished this chapter. Hope you liked the story, because I really enjoyed writing it!


	6. Do you see it? Can you feel it?

My blood is pumping through my veins

It's really not surprising

I hold a force I can't contain.

Somebody get me out of here, I'm tearing at myself

Nobody gives a damn about me, or anybody else.

- _'Medication' by Garbage_

++++++++

Metallseele 

**Chapter 6: _Do you see it? Can you feel it?_**

Rain splattered on the pavement as Bradley tried in vain not to wet his school uniform while walking with a black umbrella. Cars sped by him, some kind enough not to drive through a puddle near the boy, yet some indifferent, so that they sped the car onto puddles, wetting the lower part of his pants. The school came into view, and Bradley sighed in relief, thankful that only his pants were abused. Hurrying on the steps, he hastily closed the umbrella, tossing it to the basket with the bunch of others and went inside. 

Mr. Roencraft was standing on the facade of the building, a radiant smile on his face, despite the gloomy weather.

"Good morning, Bradley."

Bradley discarded the thought of stomping the dirt off his shoes on the mat and instead looked up and forced a tight smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Roencraft."

For some reason, and Bradley didn't know what, the jovial-looking teacher accompanied him on the hall, even sending him off directly to his homeroom. He knew that the teacher was a kind one to him - the mentor never faltered to give him that impression, but this time, there was probably something in his mind that made him do these things. Otherwise, he would just remain the same, watching him from afar in his classes. 

Bradley sat in his usual chair - on the back, away from all the bullies, and propped his chin on his palm, looking with a bored expression at the teacher instructing about mathematics. His fingers played with the pencil on his desk and slowly, his thoughts drifted off somewhere.

A week had passed since his birthday, and he was glad that the occupants of their house had turned to normal once again. The child spend all nights before bedtime with Stephen, who thought that this was getting like a ritual. And Bradley, who was once agitated whenever their mother wasn't present, resorted to a dull silence every time Stephen appeared at the door, with the usual peek of their father after his brother went in. School remained normal as ever, the bullying crowd taunting him and performing violent acts that often resulted to nasty bruises on his arm and legs, which Bradley carefully concealed with his clothes, grateful that the weather was still chilly, for he could wear his jackets and trousers all the time. He never confided in Stephen nor his parents about the events in school, because Bradley knew it would be fruitless; for he had, in this week, witnessed in disturbed anxiety every night of shouting and argument in their house.

He raised a pencil to his hair, beginning to twist it into his dark locks, and gazed at the blackboard blankly, not digesting a single word the teacher wrote on it. 

It was one thing he kept to himself permanently. After Stephen finished reading him a story, he would pretend to be asleep, and then opening his eyes, perking his senses up into alertness when his brother finally closed the door. Curiosity was always biting him, and the lack of information about his parents' source of argument raised his confusion. Ignoring the fact that he could get sick staying up beyond his bedtime every night, he lay awake, his senses alert, and listened attentively to the words shouted by the two adults bickering in the living room. Usually they would taunt each other until one was hit, and silence would come, a signal that it had ended. But last night had a bit of improvement. No pointless taunts were shouted to each other, and instead, the topic shifted to him.

"Crawford? Bradley Crawford? CRAWFORD!" Bradley jumped on his chair, arousing some sniggers around him. He looked at the teacher at the board, arms akimbo, staring fixedly at him. "Aren't you listening? I was calling your name hundreds of times! Now, as I see you're now alert, and awake, solve the problem on the board!"

Slowly, Bradley stood up, his face close to feeling hot. If this would come to the knowledge of his parents, he would be really dead. He wished the teacher would change her mind, as well as the principal... He meekly proceeded to the board, getting a piece of chalk, and answered the problem in ease, scribbling fast with the piece of chalk. When he was done, he looked up with a blank expression to their teacher, and calmly walked to his chair. 

But come to think of it... Bradley mused, as he sat on his chair, the teacher gawking at him as if he's come from the underground. I wouldn't be dead after all when my parents knew... that is, if they even catch my parents anywhere.

+++

Stephen shoved his hands into his pockets, walking with his head bowed on the corridor, heading for his usual seat in the playground. Though when he arrived at the place, the swings were all wet, puddles swimming on the ground, and circles of water on the seats of the swings. Slapping his hand on his forehead for idiotically forgetting the weather, he turned around and started to walk to the library, still staring at his feet. No later though, another pair of small feet, clad in girlish pointed leather shoes, joined his, and startled, Stephen looked up, only colliding head-first on the person in front of him. 

He managed to steady himself on the nearest metal pole, but evidently, the girl he bumped into was hurt; she sat on the floor, rubbing her head furiously. But before Stephen could offer to help the girl stood up quickly, and swiftly, arranging her short skirt and flipping her very long red hair from her face, fixed her intimidating green eyes on Stephen.

Stephen mustered all his might to not to drop his jaw. Here in front of him was the girl he always watched from afar, the girl who's always dancing with all the candles around her...

The girl was still staring at him, unblinking.

"I'm sorry. D-Did I hurt you?"

There was a solid moment of silence as the girl stood like a stone, slightly narrow green eyes fixed at Stephen. 

"It has been done. An apology is worthless," she said in a cold, whispery sort of voice, which chilled Stephen even more than the effect of what she had said. Slowly, and with the sign of grace, she turned around and started to walk away. Then, Stephen realized she, too, was heading towards the library, and that it would be an excellent opportunity to talk to her, albeit the attitude she had shown earlier. 

Stephen walked after her first, trying to make her notice that he was there in her wake, following. But he didn't succeed, she merely walked, almost gliding with grace towards the library, as if not hearing anything around her. Frustrated, he walked into step with her, and instantly, the effect he wanted came. She looked at him blankly, stopping in her tracks. They were some meters away from the library now.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I was only going to the library, and I assume you are too?" Stephen said not so confidently, clenching his fist in his pocket. 

Again, her green eyes stared coldly at him. "I don't believe you."

"I'm not lying," Stephen said quite defensively. Then, sighing, he placed a hand on his brown hair and rumpled it sheepishly. "I suggest we drop it, it's really no use arguing about the matter. But truly, I am going to the library."

"My name is Vaura. And I know you're Crawford," she said monotonously.

"Stephen," he added dully. 

"Stephen," she whispered, as if testing the name on her tongue. With a slow turn, she turned her back on him, and headed for the right corridor, walking past the library, not looking back, her long red hair swaying on her back gracefully. 

Stephen stared at the path she took, obviously confused. He had never met a girl, or even any human who acted like her, or even close to her.

+++

"Add some more butterflies to the left of the page," Mr. Roencraft suggested, poking the paper Bradley was working on. The child nodded, and absent-mindedly picked up the red crayon, drawing butterflies in a sort of finesse, and went to work with the clouds again. When Bradley thought the mentor had gone to inspect other works, a chair was pulled, and the teacher sat onto it, a smile on his fair face.

Bradley glanced at his mentor, and then proceeded to work on his art, pretending to be undisturbed by the presence of Mr. Roencraft beside him. He had never ignored someone, who actually intended to be close to him before in his life. There was just something that pulled him to feel that emotion, which he had never felt before. 

The raven-haired child could feel Mr. Roencraft's eyes burning on him, and finally, Bradley turned his head to look at the mentor, who, for a some moments donned a blank, contemplative expression, and then shifting to his usual cheerful face. 

"Bradley," said Mr. Roencraft, clearing his throat. "I am very worried about you. I know," he cleared his throat again, closing his eyes, then adjusting his glasses. "I know - I have always been notified of your schoolmates bullying you." Bradley looked at his mentor in interest, wondering why he was receiving a speech from his Arts teacher. "Yet there's just some things that a teacher cannot do. For one, I cannot reform the children who bully you. So I would just like to advise you to always take care, okay?" 

"Thank you, I will," Bradley answered shortly, grateful that someone still cared for him. He looked back at his drawing, picked up a blue crayon, and drew a cloud, filling it with blue color. 

With that, Mr. Roencraft left from Bradley's side, walking to the others to look at their artworks. Sparing the mentor a last glance, the child gave him his most sincere smile, nodding slightly. 

The day wore off like most of the days in Bradley's elementary school life. Although the only thing missing was the bullying from the hulking classmates of his, which made him elated; he thought Mr. Roencraft shunned them away from Bradley. Writing class, the last subject Bradley had that day ended early, because the teachers were supposed to have a meeting. This made Bradley glum. It meant he had to wait for some thirty minutes for his father to pick him up, which would be a nasty sign for some bullies who were free to taunt him anytime. 

Walking out from the classroom, his gaze fixed on the floor, he started to head to the facade of the building, planning to sit on the stairs, but a rough hand caught him on the biceps, hurling him into a dark room, with Bradley wide-eyed, unable to fling his arms or even scream with an emotion he had never felt before. His heart was frantically beating, almost ripping his chest apart with the intensity. Although he was attacked physiologically, he still could think rationally. There was something in the event that made him think it already happened before: deja vu. 

The arm still gripped him tightly, the fingers digging into his bones. A sharp pain surged through him when a nail dug into his sensitive skin. But he didn't utter a wince. Perhaps terror, he thought, stopped it. A muffled voice came from in front of Bradley, indistinguishable from the bullies that had tortured him. 

"So, so... here's our play doll, guys," the muffled voice said, and the other two beside him sniggered, and the hand that gripped him trembled with mirth.

"Maybe we should ask him a few questions before his execution, like in the television,", a whispery high pitched voice said, but still, Bradley didn't recognize it. He couldn't  hear his own breathing, but the pounding of his heart. He couldn't  scream, the fear was consuming him. It seemed as if Bradley's mouth was stitched. However, Bradley managed a small gasp, which made the three laugh again in extreme amusement.

"Oooo, how cute," another muffled voice, but deeper this time said at Bradley's right. 

Adjusting his eyes on the darkness, Bradley instead saw a clear, vivid image... _Silhouettes of three big boys holding rulers and pencil cases ...a crouched body looking up innocently with big, caramel eyes... _

At this, Bradley struggled to get free. He didn't want the vision to happen, it was too disturbing. And he didn't want to die... He didn't want to die...

"The wittle Bwadley is stwuggling fwee!" mimicked the one on the child's left, the arm gripping him so tightly that he felt it would crack. Bradley whimpered silently, but regretted doing so, as the three burst out in hysterical laughter again. He froze in his stance, trembling, knowing perfectly the strange emotion washing fiercely over him. He was scared to death.

"All right..." the muffled voice said, getting something from the floor. "Release him and drop him to the ground," he ordered, and the hand that gripped Bradley threw him in a heap in the floor. The vision was being realized at that moment, and the child was aware of that. In a swift motion, which was he didn't think of, or even proceed in his head, he swiftly kicked the leg of the person in front of him, and slided his leg on the other two, yet unfortunately, the first one he hit recovered quickly; he grabbed Bradley by the collar and raised him in a superb strength that lifted him from the ground. Bradley choked.

"You," the muffled voice was trembling in anger. "Made me angry. You will pay for this," the child choked, his windpipe nearly shut. He threw Bradley on the ground, and he gulped air as quickly as he could, afraid to lose his life. 

"W-w-what are y-y-you..." the child gasped quietly, but it seemed that the other three didn't place their attention to him. 

"All right, game's over. Enough of this. We have only a few minutes," the muffled voice grunted, and then shuffled noises came out again. The footsteps of the other two went close to the muffled voice, and the noises began to get louder. A flashlight went on below them, casting the shadows of the three big boys in front of him. Caramel eyes widened, when the tools were raised over their heads. There weren't pencil cases or rulers, there were sticks and batons raised above their heads, promising violence and lethality. 

Without further ado, they striked on Bradley.

One. A nasty large baton smashed on his shin, then a blinding pain coursed through his senses. He muffled a scream, but someone gripped his throat, shutting his vocal cords. The panic and the fear consumed him, but he had got no escape.  

Two. Falling in deep suffering on the floor, the baton once again slammed onto Bradley's side of the head, throwing him on the right side, and hitting his head on the wall, the impact giving the boy a dizzy sensation, and his body slid down the wall, his eyes starting to blank...

Three. Sticks slapped onto his thighs, and eventually a sharp one grazed his leg, ripping the fabric off, and drawing blood from the tender skin. Flowing... flowing... Crimson tide washing the paleness...

And Four... 

The weapons were used, the cruelty extended. Sadistic kids, such as them, young like himself committing a crime for what? Bradley didn't know. He didn't know where the weapons were slammed on his body, all he knew was that the fog of thoughts was distracting him from feeling all the pain. He didn't know real pain, yet now... Another blow drove him to slam on the wall, a sharp pain blinding him, and then, as black as the room was, his vision blackened even more, his senses blurred, and he wasn't sure if he already died or just lost his consciousness. The taste on his tongue was bitter, and unfamiliar. The panic subsided, the fear slipped, and the pain remained. But before he passed out from the world, a faraway voice boomed: "Enough... you have done better than I have..." 

And he lay dead from the world, the pain unfelt. 

++

There were cars everywhere. Cars packed like sardines on a narrow highway. Everyone was screaming, pointing accusing fingers everywhere - from the head of a cop, to the head of an innocent bystander. The horns were blowing simultaneously; deafening noise. The heat of the sun was worsening the condition, it's affects on the already hot heads of the drivers. And in the center of the chaos was Alan Crawford, calm, but ready to burst in his air-conditioned Jaguar. 

It was 4:20 pm, twenty minutes late from picking Bradley up from school. He had already called Bradley's school, but the phone was currently in repair. However, in calling Stephen's school, he was successful. He notified his son that he would arrive after half an hour, but from the looks of the situation, he might even spend the night in there. 

Apparently, a stupid driver of a truck, which was approximately twenty feet long clashed with another carriage truck. The reason? They forgot to stomp on the break. Remembering all these, Alan Crawford cursed under his breath, thinking how idiotic and careless these drivers were. But perhaps the worst actors were the police. How stupid of them not to fix the mess, they'd just have to redirect the traffic and send the cars to the other side, while barraging the part of the highway to stop the cars from packing in the narrow road. 

Cursing rather colorfully, he slammed his fist on the horn and let the horrible sound echo, hopefully, to the moronic drivers of the trucks.

+++

"Bradley, Bradley..."

A soft slap slightly on the cheek, followed by the repeated call.

"Bradley? BRADLEY!" the slap was intensified, and the blurred images in front of the child sharpened a bit, revealing Mr. Roencraft on the driver's seat, of a car the child wasn't familiar with. Blinking his eyes, he found out that he had a bit of a difficulty with his eyesight. Lifting his left hand, he gingerly touched his eye, and a prickling sensation shot from his eye to the whole of his body. He winced loudly, and he shifted his eyes to the ruffled professor beside him. 

Everything was fuzzy... "What... What's happening - w-what happened... Mr. Roen..." There were fogs all around. He couldn't focus. Bradley asked flabbergastedly, trying to move his feet, but in vain. When he did, a sharp pain went to his bones up to his spine. Yet everything else felt numb, ironic for the pain caused it entirely; plus, everything felt immovable. Casting a fearful glance at the professor, tiny beads of tears built on the corners of the child's eyes, giving Bradley's colorless cheeks a tinge of pink.

Fogs and clouds of figures obliterated the boy's sight. Though he could still see Mr. Roencraft turning to focus on the windshield, and starting the car. The engine purred silently, and instantly, the air-conditioning ran, chilling the child, and numbing more parts of his body.

"Don't cry. It would be fruitless to, and plus, you have nothing to cry for," the professor stated bluntly, a foreign tone to his usual soft voice. Nonetheless, Bradley assumed, the professor was in a state of panic that he hid it behind his calm. Bradley drew in a breath, and started to breathe evenly to calm his rioting nervous system. 

"And don't fall asleep. I wouldn't want you to risk falling into a coma," the professor added, stomping on the gas. 

Clouds and blurs. He couldn't see anyone but his mentor. "Where's my Dad?" Bradley demanded, which he wished he had asked earlier. His Dad might be waiting fruitlessly for him in front of the school, and driving himself nuts, with every minute of an absent Bradley. And his mother... his mother...

"Your Dad will be contacted later. Apparently, he was still absent when I drove you out of the building," looking at Bradley, he anticipated his next question. "It's already four thirty. Perhaps he's busy on something, and was unable to call. I will contact him later, okay? For now, just relax and try to focus yourself," this time, the words were spoken softly, and Bradley was glad for that. The boy blinked several times.  

Shifting his strained head to the right, he started to watch the cars which passed by; the people walking with their emotionless faces, as if indifferent from the world they're walking onto. Fascinated, and more relaxed than ever, his eyes started to droop, the fogginess and clouds obstructing his sight. 

'Don't fall asleep...' Mr. Roencraft's warning echoed in his head. But his head was too heavy, plus the lids were closing for a blissful sleep, which was the best thing he could've done that moment when he was just beaten half to death for no reason. 

A strong slap woke Bradley from his grogginess. Mr. Roencraft's dark eyes glinted with anger - no, something quite the contrary to Bradley - it was foreboding. The teacher's lips quirked uneasily, and then with a soft breath, he straightened up and focused his sight onto the road. "I said don't sleep." 

Bradley's eyes widened, and he silently willed himself to focus. His hand landed on his thigh, and something warm met his palm. Raising the palm slowly, his eyes widened in horror as the crimson wetness filled his sight. The boy's hand trembled in fear, and further when he saw another line of blood drawing from his thigh. 

Suddenly he was onslaught by images, some distant, some... familiar. 

All of a sudden, it turned crimson, thick red liquid flowing down his fingers, tainting his nails, and the odor suffocating. Eyes widening from the change, he violently thrashed his hands, but in vain of releasing the fearsome sight.

Eventually the images were becoming destructive. His mind was racing backwards and Bradley was in the verge of fainting when two hands carried him, his heavy head leaning against a warm hard chest. His lids were drawing to the limit, he couldn't  control it... 

At last, as he landed in the softness of the mattress, the overly sterile smell greeting his senses, suffocating his mind and letting him grant what he so desired. The tired child blinked one last time and finally drifted to unconsciousness, albeit the desperate slaps of the mentor had given him and his words of warning that made him fear. This was the last thing he wanted, and he had claimed it. 

+++

Stephen tiptoed, peeking at the top of the fence to see whether a Jaguar was approaching their school. Some of his classmates were still hanging around the school's premises, but he wasn't tempted to join them, since his father would surely bitch about his lateness or whatever rule he had broken that time. Yet after twenty minutes of waiting, perhaps it was the time that he went home alone. After all, he's already eleven, waiting for his puberty to arrive and steal his childish voice and physique. 

He opened his book bag and confirmed that he hadn't missed anything. As usual, he had all of his things, but it wouldn't be cool to walk alone to their home. Maybe Vienfer or Davis were still fooling around the school, so it would be nice to search for them now that he's free for an afternoon. 

Walking towards the grounds of the school, he instantly spotted Vienfer slouched behind a tree, flipping a cellphone in his hands. His brunette hair shone under the setting sun, and his eyes looked very distant and blank. Stephen grinned and walked to his friend under the shadows of the trees. But before he could greet Vienfer, a mass of red hair appeared from the shadows, covering Vienfer's profile. Instinctually, Stephen slipped in the shadows all the more, watching the event unfold in front of him. It was Vaura, obviously. But what about Vaura and Vienfer? 

Vaura sat in front of his friend, blocking Vienfer's profile. From Stephen's stand, he couldn't hear a thing, or even see their expressions. 

Inside Stephen, he felt a stab of jealousy from the casualness of the two. Hell, he'd been hawking that girl for months, and then Vienfer's the one who'll fish her without even letting his friends know? That was absurd, and not like his friend. Especially since Vienfer was the type who always wanted to know everything and broadcast everything interesting to his friends. Why this now?

Stephen ran a hand trough his hair, blinking his eyes from the strain of watching the two closely. And then a thought occurred to him which was obscure, as if someone whispered into his brain. 

Maybe... maybe they're not really what I thought they were... What was Vaura and Vienfer anyway? No one dons that name in a normal American society...

Ignoring the thought, he just turned around and decided to leave. It was better to interrogate his friend later, and not embarrass himself, and including his friend in front of Vaura. Quietly, he began walking away when a soft voice called him... No, it was as if it was spoken in his head... But...?

"Stephen?"

Whirling around, he found Vaura right behind him, long red hair on her chest, glassy green eyes mysteriously peeking through long lashes. Her pale pink lips forming the words, hypnotizing him, captivating his attention... Words were nothing beneath his ears, that sight was all he beheld - the sight he longed for, prayed for in months... and now she was...

"Stephen... I wanted to tell you this for a long time. I know you've been watching me... And I was watching you. You never knew..."

Her voice had a wicked tone, but its softness gradually took over the sharpness of her tone. Stephen was intoxicated, his head swimming in fogs that he never comprehended what happened next. 

Vaura tiptoed carefully, placing her slender fingers on his chest lightly, and placed her lips on the corner of Stephen's lips. A light touch, enticing, making him beg for more... what is happening with him? Why...? What? 

Confused half-lidded gray eyes bore into green ones, those eyes making him captive of any of her intentions. What he felt inside him turmoiled, but it was neither love nor admiration. It was submission.

"Do you see it? Can you feel it? A question I reserved just for you... For my longing, for my desire. Now... will you join us?"

Her tone wasn't a question, it was merely a statement. Stephen forgot his earlier confusion, and a certain statement formed in his head, coaxing him to her. 'Ego accipere...'(*) the phrase repeated in his head, not understood, but all the more seductive. 

Finally, he just uttered the strange words, echoing in his brain and further from his mouth. "Ego accipere. I definitely accept... I accept..."

Slender fingers twirled in his hair, going down until it laced into the fingers of her captive. "...æternus," (**) she whispered.

+++

The road cleared, and Alan hurried to Brad's school. It was almost an hour after their supposed meeting time. Grabbing his cellphone, he dialed the school's second number from memory, and a tiny tired voice answered.

"Hello, good afternoon, may I help you?"

Alan forgot his politeness, and promptly asked for the purpose of his call. "Is there a Bradley Crawford still in the school premises?" 

"Wait, sir, lemme check," disdain was printed in the receiver's voice and soft taps of the keyboard followed. 

"Sir, there's still a Bradley Crawford in the -" Alan Crawford clicked the end button and parked in front of the school. There was no small dark-haired boy waiting on the facade. Stepping out of the car, he went in the school, immediately meeting face to face with the bodyguard. 

"What do you want, sir?"

"Has a small dark-haired boy named Bradley Crawford left the school premises?"

"Bradley... ah, the kid with Mr. Roencraft! Yes, they have left. But the kid left his things over here," the guard pointed to a corner. "And apparently the kid's not in a good situation either."

Alan's expression hardened at the statement. "Was he bullied or harassed?"

"No, no, sir, not harassed. Probably he was hurt by some kids. You know the school bullies, sir. Apparently the bullies were not found, but the professor was good. Went to the hospital himself with the Crawford kid. Sir?" 

Alan was shaking in rage he couldn't stop. Grabbing his son's bag, he hurried before anything could be said by the bodyguard. Twisting the keys from his shaking hand, he managed to turn on the engine. 

Roencraft, that name itself wasn't good. Everything associated with that name had to come with a bad reputation. And now that he had held his son capture, what was he having in his mind? Panic surged in the normally calm mind of Alan. 

+++

"Negative. Crawford has already left for his son."

"I saw."

"Crawford was hurt, and apparently the vita (***) will not be spotted."

"Yes."

"With him."

"Of course. I will call again."

"Oh, and the target was captured."

"Ave. (****)"

Closing the cellphone slowly, the figure leaned into the shadows, watching the two figures move in the distance, the light blinding his sight. Pulling his dark hair on the side of his face, he twirled it, while smirking at the possibilities of their plan. 

"Fun, fun, fun... You'll be a good tool, boy." he whispered to himself, a sadistic smirk forming on his lips. 

+++++

(*) Ego accipere - I accept (Latin phrase)

(**) æternus - Eternal. (Latin once again)

(***) vita - life (LATIN! LATIN!!!)

(****) Ave - Farewell. (You know what language it is by now. :P)

**Author's notes**: I would like to thank the people who reviewed and my great great friend who beta-ed and test-read this chapter, **Picaro**! I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter, as I've enjoyed writing it. Sorry for the mysterious persons, but they would be focused on more on the next chapter. Thanks once again!   


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